


Part of the Narrative

by mearcats



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Red Beauty, Background Relationships, Betrayal, Captain Swan Big Bang 2017, Character Death, Corporate Espionage, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Kidnapping, Light Spying, Mild Gore, POV Multiple, Past Relationship(s), Pretty Egregious Disregard for the Law, Romance, Second Chances, Snarky Internal Monologues, Swearing, Thriller, Violence, background Outlaw Queen, lying liars who lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mearcats/pseuds/mearcats
Summary: Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. Writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally be posting this fic, the culmination of months of effort for the Captain Swan Big Bang. It's here, it's done, and it'll be updated once a week. 
> 
> A huge thanks to Kris for beta-reading this whole beast, and to Cynthia and Tara for your encouragement and initial read-throughs! And I can't forget the hard work of Kayla and Sophie, who will be posting accompanying artwork for the story.

_Emma_

Emma was not excited. Well, she was excited to begin working on her second novel. Her first had been a breakaway hit, surprising her and her publishing house. Apparently people ate up her gritty tale of life as a bail bondsperson and were eager to see a second book from the new darling of thrillers.

What was less thrilling, however, was having to go to her publisher’s office so she could meet her new editor. Mills & Booth had done right by her the first time around with Graham Humbert. He was smart and witty, knew just when to push her and when to back off. They had hit it off right away, and not just professionally. Between the usual editing sessions, there had been a few too many late dinners and movie nights, long walks where they laughed and talked about everything under the sun. They may not have indulged the attraction between them, but both had recognized it was there.

And then Graham died. Suddenly, cruelly, he was just gone.

They found out later it was a brain aneurysm. Nothing anyone could have expected, and nothing that could have come with a warning.

Emma was still mourning the loss of her friend and editor. She had no interest in meeting his replacement, even if everyone kept assuring her he was one of the best.

It just wouldn’t be the same, she reflected as she walked down the sidewalk, crunching through the autumn leaves, the sound echoing with each step. The new editor probably was all they said and more, but still, he wouldn’t be Graham. Would he  _get_  her in the same way? Would they have that same connection and rapport?

She sighed, looking up at the formidable height and cold steel of the building that housed her publishing house. She knew she had to meet this guy, but she didn’t have to look forward to it.

&&&

The lobby of Mills & Booth was as tasteful and well-appointed as ever, the familiar sight of the warm colors, plush chairs, and literary quotes on the walls soothing her nerves a little.

“Oh hi, Ms. Swan!” Ariel greeted her with a wide smile from behind the reception desk, and Emma couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi, Ariel. How’s it going?”

Ariel was a good sort, bubbly and friendly. Her chipper tone and natural ease had a way of winning over even the most cantankerous clients, all while making sure the office ran smoothly.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Except for, well, your new editor.”

“What’s he like?”

“Mr. Jones? He’s…nice? I haven’t talked to him much.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice and motioned Emma closer. “But what I can tell you is that he’s really, really hot,” she said frankly.

Emma laughed. “Well, hopefully he’s as good at his job as he is at being pretty.”

Ariel pointed her in the direction of his office, and Emma gave a sigh of relief when she realized they hadn’t set him up in Graham’s old one. It at least made it feel like they weren’t replacing him so completely.

The door was cracked open, and she knocked to let him know she was there. “Hi? Mr. Jones?”

She heard the sound of rustling, and the door opened. Then she saw the man who had opened it.

And  _Jesus_. Ariel hadn’t been kidding about the attractiveness thing. Dark, artfully mussed hair, a sculpted jawline with a dusting of scruff. Chest hair peeked out of the button-up he wore under a nice tweed suit jacket. And he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

 _Down, girl_ , she told herself.

Sticking out her hand to shake his, she smiled politely. “I’m Emma Swan. Your new author?”

She was gratified to see that he too looked a little awestruck. Speechless, even. He’d met her eyes confidently, but as soon as he’d a chance to take her in, he had frozen in place. She knew she wasn’t exactly off-putting, but still, it was nice.

Recovering, he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. Her insides quivered, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from attraction or annoyance. “I’m Killian Jones. A pleasure to meet you, Emma. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

God, a British accent. She was doomed.

She shook her head. “That’s fine. And you prefer…”

“Killian, if you please.”

She certainly did please. But okay, really not the point. And not the kind of thoughts she should be having about her editor a minute after meeting him. She needed to cool it if she was going to work with this guy. Giving him an assessing look, she let him lead her to the chair in front of the desk, his hand hovering at the small of her back the whole way. Even through the layers of her clothing, her skin tingled at the light touch.

“Okay, then. So…where do we start?”

“I don’t know how things worked with Mr. Humbert, but I thought we could go over impressions and expectations. Begin as we mean to go on, as it were.”

“That works for me,” she said. “But honestly, I don’t know much about you, other than that Cleo told me I’d be working with you and you’re supposedly one of the best. Graham and I used to talk about goals and then he edited any drafts I sent him.”

He retreated behind his desk and sat, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, truthfully, things will probably be different, with this being your second book. And I do things differently than your former editor.”

“How differently?” Emma was sure it couldn’t be all  _that_  changed. Read it, edit it, give it back. Boom. He smirked at her and she stiffened, uncertainty creeping in.

“For starters, lass, I like to work more…collaboratively,” he said, winking salaciously at her.

Killian leaned forward across his desk, and Emma pulled back, feeling the need to put a little more space between them. She rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what? You want to see more drafts?” she asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

“No, darling, I plan to be involved from the prospectus on.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He might think himself to be charming, and his looks might win him points with some people, but Emma prided herself on being above that. ”First, don’t call me  _darling_. And second, you seriously want to be involved in the prospectus? I’ve done this before, you know. I don’t need my hand held.”

He smiled and smoothed his hands across a few of the papers on his desk. “Pity, I wouldn’t mind holding your hand. But look, Swan, your work is good. It’s really quite promising. But it’s rough, and it could stand some refinement.”

“Rough?! I wrote a fucking bestseller!” She pulled herself to her feet, staring him down angrily.

“I didn’t say you were talentless, only that there’s room for improvement. Or are you content to peak with your very first work?” He was clearly trying to placate her, holding up his hands. Well, at least one hand. Even through her ire, Emma noticed that one appeared to be a prosthetic. A good one, but not flesh and blood.

She glared at him, jaw tightening painfully. “Peaking? Rough? And all of this from…who? Where’s your bestseller, buddy?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he bristled as he said, “I may not have a bestseller,  _darling_ , but my thesis in nonfiction writing won several awards, and I’ve helped some of the best craft their own masterpieces.”

“You probably couldn’t craft a paper airplane,” she spat at him.

“An admittedly difficult task when working with this, Swan,” he snapped, lifting his prosthetic hand.

She flushed crimson but was unwilling to back down. Ignoring the stab of guilt, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about your hand, but I really don’t think this is going to work out.”

She turned abruptly and walked out of his office, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

&&&

Cleo stared sharply at her across the expanse of her desk. “I mean it, Emma. You need to get your shit together and find a way to work with Jones. He’s one of the best in the industry, and he’ll make sure your story is the best it can it be.”

“But, Cleo, he has no respect for my process. And he was…rude.”

She snorted. “He was rude? I could hear you all the way down here.”

Emma glared back at her.

Cleo huffed out a sigh. “I need you to give this another shot. This isn’t your debut novel, the stakes and expectations are higher this time around. I know this project means a lot to you, and it has the potential to do a lot of good. That’s why I want it to be the best version of itself it can possibly be.”

“And you think Jones can help me do that?” She crossed her arms in frustration. She tried really hard to stay away from that diva writer stereotype, but Killian Jones had tested her patience.

“I really do. He might be a pretty-boy, but he’s also brilliant.” Cleo was calm and collected, only the edge in her voice showing a hint of her stress and annoyance.

“He’s still an asshole.”

“And so are you.”

“Geez, thanks.”

“Look, I’m here to publish you and pay you. I don’t owe you pretty words, Emma. Jones doesn’t either. I’m giving you a week to figure something out.”

“Or what?”

Cleo shrugged. “Or I’ll sue you for breach of contract.”

“Oh.” Dimly, Emma had been aware this was an option, but she was gobsmacked at the threat, never really expecting to have to deal with it herself. She took a deep breath, letting all her conflicting emotions settle. “Okay, then.”

“That’s what I thought.” At that, Cleo stood and brusquely gestured to the door.

&&&

With the threat of a lawsuit hanging over her head and her ears ringing from Cleo’s rebuke, Emma stomped most of the way back to her apartment. She nodded at the doorman as she went past, running up the stairs and all but slamming the door in her haste to get home.

What a day.

What a fucking mess of a shit-hell day.

She’d been prepared to not hit it off with her new editor, but to already revile and loathe him entirely? And for him to think so little of her writing–and probably her, if his attempts at flirtation and then his insults were any indication–was beyond the pale.

Honestly, she was aware she probably wasn’t a Shakespeare or an Agatha Christie, but she knew she could write good, entertaining stories that a lot of people liked to read. It might not be the kind of thing that endured for decades or centuries, but it was fun and made a living for her. A living she enjoyed.

She flopped down onto the leather club chair in her living room, one of the few nods to personalization in her entire apartment. She had seen it in a little shop a few blocks from her last apartment and  _had_  to have it. It just reminded her so much of what a writer’s haven should look like, and it was so cozy and elegant. She’d bought it with her first royalties check for a mildly ridiculous sum, but she had no regrets.

Mostly, though, her loft apartment in Back Bay was pretty sparse. She had sprung for a nice, spacious place to live, but she didn’t exactly have the personal effects to fill it, which was okay with her. It was just one of those inevitable things that happened when you grew up in the foster system, moving from place to place, never staying long enough in any one of them to accumulate a lot of things.

Emma got up and went to the kitchen, debating between fixing herself some hot cocoa or pouring herself a glass of scotch.

Fuck it, she was going to do both. She was an adult, she could double-fist if she wanted to.

She could almost hear Granny saying, “Cocoa for what ails you and liquor so you don’t bring the ailing to anyone else.” She smiled to herself, remembering the kind, older woman who had taken her in after…after everything had gone to hell.

Emma had been in and out of foster care since she was a baby. Some of the homes she’d been in had been great, others less so. She’d nearly been adopted twice, but it had fallen through both times. And those had been some of the good ones.

And she had no intention of talking to anyone, not even that court-appointed psychologist, about the worst of the homes. That, well…even she didn’t like to think about that.

By the time she aged out of the system, she’d been adept at petty crime. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall in–in more ways than one–with another small-time criminal, Neal. He’d been her first love, her first lot of things.

But he’d also landed her in jail. Framing her for one of his past crimes had gotten him a fresh start and her a felony charge, but luckily–if she could call it luck–she’d been young enough that she had been able to get those records sealed.

After nearly a year in minimum security she’d found herself back in Boston, waiting tables at Granny’s. She was eighteen and a mess, but Mrs. Lucas had seen some spark of potential and had encouraged her first to get her GED and then to put herself through college. She’d even kept a room for her in that old house, had made a place for her in her home.

It was how she’d met her best friend, Ruby, who was still here for her a decade later, even with Granny gone these last four. Emma was glad Granny got to see the pair of them graduate from college, to see Ruby take over the diner. She even got to witness Emma meeting some success as a bail bondsperson.

She smiled into the last of her scotch, remembering Granny’s encouragement and enthusiasm as Emma put together the first draft of her novel. The plates of free grilled cheese (“But I’m going to have to make you pay for the onion rings with as many as you eat, girlie.”), the disapproving looks when she was caught dicking around on Pinterest, and above all, the love and compassion she gave when Emmad had a rough day with a skip or with writing.

Emma wished Granny had lived to see the success of  _Bonds the Past_. Even more, she wished she was here for this second book. It didn’t have a title yet, but she knew Granny would be proud of her.

She sighed, walking over to the bookcase, the one with her little journal full of her notes for this project. This was going to be hard–it would have been difficult even with a supportive editor like Graham. It was going to be doubly so now with someone like Killian Jones.

She knew this book would be good, better than her debut novel. And not just in terms of sales…for her. She was going to write what she knew, was going to strip away that veil of privacy and reserve that she had held onto for so long.

And maybe, just maybe, she could bring some positive attention to the system and what foster kids went through there. Use her newfound fame for good and all that.

Emma ran her hand over her face, daunted at the task ahead.

It was time to give Ruby a call and hole up at the diner and  _write_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian knows he has to fix things with Emma so they can work together, but that’s not the whole story.

_Killian_

Killian all but hit his head against the desk when Emma stomped out of his office.  _Fuck_. This was…not good.

Bloody understatement of the year.

She didn’t deserve his behavior. He had meant what he said–he did think her work needed some polish, but she was a brilliant lass, and her debut novel had been excellent. She was impressive for her talent alone. To say nothing of her fiery passion and startling good looks.

God, he hadn’t been prepared for that. He’d been so distracted by her golden hair and solemn, intense green eyes he’d barely remembered how to function. Clearly, he hadn’t remembered how to keep his words in check, if that cringe-worthy excuse of a meeting was any indication. August was not going to be happy when he filled him in on this development.

When he’d met August Booth a few years before, he’d dismissed the man’s offer to come work at his fairly new publishing house. August and his partner, Regina Mills (a pseudo-royal figure in the publishing world), had just gotten it started and off the ground, and while they were pulling in excellent talent, Killian was happy to remain in London. Plus, the Boston location didn’t appeal. If he were going to relocate to the US, he really would prefer to end up in New York, the real center of the publishing world.

But then everything had gone to shit.

It had started with that damned publicity tour for the Royal Navy. He’d been recruited after graduating from uni, drowning in debt and getting his start in the cutthroat world of publishing and public relations. Liam was an officer and said he’d look out for him. He’d quickly been snapped up and promoted within the PR division for the Navy. (“Just think, your face and the pathos of brotherly love…the country will eat this up.”) It had gone well enough, grueling if a bit dull.

Then they’d sent him out on tour on his brother’s ship. The first part had been grand. Getting to spend time with Liam every day was amazing, a feat they hadn’t reliably managed in years. It had been smooth sailing of the literal and metaphorical sort, until the explosion.  

The work of terrorists or saboteurs–the Navy was never too clear about the results of their investigation. At any rate, the tragedy had claimed Liam’s life, and Killian had lost his hand. His increasing bitterness against his country had obviously rendered him a poor choice for continuing his career in PR for the Royal Navy. They’d released him with a generous settlement, on the condition he not badmouth them to every reporter who came along.

He’d done well enough at the keeping quiet bit for a while, until trouble had found him in the form of Milah Smythe. She was tenacious, his Milah. She was a journalist for  _The Independent_ , and she’d tracked him down and tried to tease out his tale for a story she was working on. She had succeeded in doing so…after three dates and a passionate night.

She’d come clean to him the next day about her job. He’d been angry, devastated that the first person he’d felt a connection to since Liam’s death was trying to use him. Then she apologized, telling him she had no intention of using his interview for her story, that the attraction between the two of them was worth more than that to her.

Killian remembered the next year and a half in perfect detail. The laughter over dinners and lunches, the steadfast support they’d given each other. She had even gotten him back into the literary world by introducing him to an editor she knew.  The love that had grown between him and Milah was his cornerstone. He knew it was love on their first weekend away together, a brief trip to Cornwall. They’d moved in together after just a couple months, and he loved the bliss of waking up to her in his arms, greeted by her tousled hair and light snores, her teasing him over his sleep-talking.

He’d been eyeing rings–even had an appointment with a jeweler–when he’d gotten the phone call from the hospital. It had been one of those crazy things. Milah apparently had a heart condition no one had known about. It was completely unpredictable and her death instantaneous.

Suddenly, she was gone and he was alone again.

He’d climbed back into a bottle, and his work had suffered for it. He knew he was in trouble with his publishing house, so he’d done what he could to salvage it–he’d tried selling the story of what happened to him and Liam in the Navy.

The British government had been none too pleased, and when he found himself being followed by hulking men, he panicked. He dug out August’s number and asked him if the offer to come work for Mills & Booth was still good.

August had agreed to help him, and quickly, in exchange for a favor. The favor that would now be even more complicated than he’d thought.

Killian sighed. He’d had one job. (Well, two, since he  _was_  in fact an editor, regardless.) He needed to win Emma over, keep her pliable and complacent. And willing to go along with anything he or August suggested.

That was going to be…fun.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Somehow, someway, he was going to have to fix this.

&&&

Killian made his way down the hall to Cleo’s office. He had only known her by reputation prior to arriving at Mills & Booth, but so far all of the positive things he had heard seemed to be borne out. His meetings with her had been purely professional, but he recalled hearing that she had worked closely with Emma and her former editor. The couple of times they’d seen each other since his arrival had been pleasant enough, and he hoped she’d be able to help him.

He knocked on her closed door.

“Come in!” her voice rang out, in a clear, brusque tone.

Walking through the door, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Ms. Fox.”

“Mr. Jones,” she said, peering at him across the desk and motioning for him to take a seat. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to chat with you about Emma, if you have a moment,” he said, hoping there was enough humility in his posture she’d take pity on him.

Cleo looked impassive and unimpressed. “Quite a ruckus you all raised yesterday.”

He scratched the back of his ear self-consciously. “Er, indeed. About that…”

“I’m actually surprised it took you this long to make your way down here.”

Killian winced at the mild censure in her tone. “Sorry about that. I was unsure about the best way of handling, so I–”

She snorted. “So you went for the opposite of ‘handling it’ by doing nothing?”

“I thought maybe we just needed to cool down?”

A raised eyebrow was the only response he received.

Finally, he shrugged in defeat. “Look, truthfully, I’m not used to meeting that kind of resistance to my…suggestions.”

Cleo sighed. “What the hell did you suggest?!” She waved her hand before he could answer. “Never mind that right now, Emma was furious. I need to know what you intend to do about it.”

“Does…does she accept apology flowers?”

Cleo laughed. “The only time I’ve ever seen her accept a bouquet she threw it right into the trash.”

“Oh.”

“To be fair, they weren’t even hers. She thought they were, but turns out they were for poor Ariel,” she confided.

He let out a surprised chuckle. “Emma is a tough lass, isn’t she?”

“She is. And I’ll tell you more or less what I told her. You need to find a way to work with her. I don’t care if you think her writing is garbage–which it isn’t–but she’s one of our most successful authors, so you’ll keep an eye on her. Apologize, and get in good with her so you can bring out another bestseller from her.”

“I…yes,” he said. Sensing this brief interview was nearing its end, he got up. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. “One thing–how is it you weren’t assigned to work with her? It seems like it’d be an easier fit.”

She tilted her head. “A question I’ve wondered about, too.”

He paused a moment, wondering if she would elaborate. She didn’t so he nodded. “Well, then. I’ll do what I can.” He moved to exit the office.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a diner she likes. Out in West Roxbury. She worked there all the time on her first book. It’s called Granny’s.”

This time, his nod to Cleo was one of gratitude.

&&&

It took almost a day for him to work up the nerve to go to Granny’s and a further three and half days staking out the place before he contrived to “accidentally” run into Emma.

He had become very familiar with the greasy diner food, and the owner of the place knew him by name at this point. His insides hurt and he was overly caffeinated, but if his plan worked, it would be worth it.

On the Tuesday he finally saw Emma enter, Killian sat up higher. He was on his second cup of coffee, practically vibrating with the cursed fake energy that only came from caffeine.

She clearly had a destination in mind, and after a quick “Hey, Ruby,” she headed toward the back. Stopping only when she saw him, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You.”

“Aye, me. Lovely to see you, Miss Swan. I trust you’ve received my emails?”

She stared at him, seemingly contemplating his motives, his presence…probably his very existence, if Killian were honest with himself.

“Yeah. Sorry I haven’t responded. Haven’t figured out what I wanted to say yet.”

“Well, it appears we’re stuck working together, so…I’d like to smooth things over, if you’re amenable.” He gestured toward the other side of the booth.

“Nothing else to add to that, pal?” She cocked her head at him.

“Erm, sorry? I apologize for my words, though I stand by my methodology.”

She continued to stare at him a few beats before she slid into the booth. “That’s fine,” she said once she settled in, “but if you’re going to continue to be an ass, this isn’t going to work.”

“And it won’t work if you stubbornly resist everything I say.”

They exchanged wary looks, and Killian felt a pang of something a lot like loss at the thought that any flirtation seemed out of the question. He had enjoyed those fleeting moments when she first walked into his office and  had stared at him like he was a popsicle and it was a hot, hot day outside.

He intentionally leaned back, hoping he looked as confident as he wished he felt. “Well, if that’s settled, can I buy you a coffee? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“Why?”

“As a toast to our new partnership, Swan.”

She gave a deep sigh, “Fine. Get me a coffee, then.”

He gestured to the waitress and ordered them both coffee, his gut churning at the idea of consuming more of the stuff. As soon as the server poured their drinks, he found himself studying the dark roast, praying he could come up with an approach that worked with Emma.

“So, darling, what are some things I can do to make this collaboration more palatable to you?”

“For starters, don’t fucking call me darling. It’s condescending as hell, and the only thing it accomplishes is making me want to punch you.”

He snorted. “Very well, no more ‘darlings’. I’m assuming any other endearments are out, too. Anything else?”

She bit her bottom lip as she pondered the question. Killian found his gaze drawn to it, and he had to tear himself away from the frightfully imaginative things his mind conjured.

“Why?”

He froze at the unexpected question and looked back up to catch her eye. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you come here? And why are you working with me?”

He offered her his most charming, rakish grin. “While I didn’t request you, lo-Swan, I can’t say I regret it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, buddy,” she said, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

He frowned at her. “Okay, I hate being called ‘buddy’.” He leant forward. “Can we just…impose a moratorium on nicknames of any kind?”

“Sure, but I also want an answer.” She took a pointed sip of her coffee.

“God above, you’re like a dog with a bone. Is this an interrogation?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “No, but getting information  _is_  an important part of writing.”

“To be sure, lass, but…” He sighed and leaned back in the booth. “My apologies–Emma. Truthfully, I don’t know. Perhaps Mr. Booth, and Ms. Mills, naturally, wanted someone partnered exclusively with you.”

“I need that much work, do I?”

He hesitated. “I’d think of it more as you being a valuable investment.”

She snorted. “Flattering, real flattering.”

He grinned. “I aim to please.”

An eyeroll greeted him at that. “I’m sure. But anyway, I get the feeling you’re not telling me something, and I really don’t appreciate being left in the dark.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Listen, I’ll be working on my book, and I’ll get you an outline and first chapter soon. But we’re not going to be pals, and I won’t compromise my integrity or my style just because you bought me a fucking cup of coffee.”

Killian stared at her, his mouth slightly agape, and for once in his life he felt speechless.

Emma wasn’t done rendering him shocked and incapable of using words. “Also?” She stood and tapped on the edge of the table. “You should have bought me hot chocolate if you wanted to impress me or get me to talk.”

Then she left before he even had a chance to formulate a reply.

&&&

Killian tried to tamp down the surge of mixed emotions he was dealing with. This was the second time in one week the same woman had walked away from him, and he was annoyed.  _He_  had been the one who was supposed to question  _her_ , to figure out what made her tick. Instead, she had managed to twist things around both times and, somehow, he had managed to reveal more of his hand than he had intended.

She had known he was hiding something. He wasn’t sure how, or why it bothered him so much. Everyone had an agenda, and Emma had to know he would have one.

But how she guessed it might not be a straightforward editorial one, he couldn’t imagine.

There was a part of him that he was trying to push away, though. A part of him that respected Emma, much to his surprise. She had called him on his bluffs and bullshit, and she followed her convictions and spoke her mind.

Unbidden, a thought came to him:  _Milah would like her_.

He sighed. That was a road he didn’t want to go down. Nodding at Ruby and ignoring her smirk, he asked for the check.

“I knew you weren’t here for the salads,” she said, dropping the ticket down on the table.

He raised an eyebrow and gave her the smarmiest once-over he could manage. “Maybe I was hoping for different fare.”

She rolled her eyes. “And yet, you’re the one who got devoured. Chewed up and spit out, more like. It was a treat to see.”

“Ah…you know Emma, then.”

“She’s one of my best friends. Like a sister to me.”

“Of fucking course,” he groaned.

She grinned wolfishly at him. “Don’t be afraid to come back. I enjoyed the show.”

He dropped enough cash to cover his bill along with a generous tip and clenched his jaw, walking out of the diner.

_How humiliating_.

As he walked the couple of blocks to the T, he pushed his shoulders back, trying to let go of some of his tension. Once again, he could almost hear Milah.

_“So dramatic, Killian. She bested you, and you’re just whinging about it now. Don’t be petulant, my love.”_

He felt his insides twist at the realization that Milah would likely not approve of his dealings with August. It might not be precisely illegal, at least on his end–but it was unscrupulous and reprehensible.

He had only known Emma about a week, but wasn’t sure he could keep on doing this. Perhaps it would be best to be above-board from here on out, focus on his actual job.

Killian grimaced, thinking of all he owed August. Hating himself and holding back a snarl, he pulled out his phone and dialed August’s number.

He picked up after two rings.

“August? I got things a little more under control with Emma. She should be sending me her materials soon, and then we can figure out what else needs to be done…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so_ much for your response to this story of mine! I was blown away.   
>  Anyway, feel free to drop a line and comment or come scream with me or at me on tumblr, where I'm emmaswanchoosesyou. (Please don't actually scream at me, it makes me sad and contrary.) <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleo wonders why Killian is so determined and why August didn’t let her take over editorial duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for commenting, leaving kudos, and subscribing! It gives me life, and I love you all. <3  
> With this chapter, I've finally introduced all the POV characters! I hope you enjoy, and drop me a line here or on tumblr @emmaswanchoosesyou.

_Cleo_

Cleo kept her eyes on Killian Jones as he retreated out of her office. God, what a mess.

She liked Emma Swan. The kid had moxie and talent, and something even rarer–heart. She hoped Jones wouldn’t try to mess with that, remove the soul and pathos of her writing in a quest to perfect her style. Sure, she could stand a little more polish and a heavier hand editing than Graham had provided, but really, who couldn’t?

She sighed and got up to close her door. She needed to send off an email, plan for tomorrow’s meeting with Hachette Book Group, think about dinner for Alex and Jamie, but the only thing on her mind was how weird this whole situation was.

Normally (well, as normal as any situation could be when a healthy man in his thirties died), if one her editors was unable to perform his job, she’d take over, at least until the project could be reassigned. In fact, with as popular as Emma’s novel had been, it would have been expected that she would take over.

But that hadn’t even been offered as an option.

Graham hadn’t even been in the ground when August came to her and told her he was bringing someone on to be Emma’s editor. Some old pal of his, highly qualified, he promised.

“His name is Killian Jones. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” He waved his hand and then continued before she could get a word in edgewise, “He was in the London scene, used to do PR for the Royal Navy before his accident. He’s brilliant, but he’s had some personal losses and wants a change. So he’s crossing the pond.”

Cleo had protested briefly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take on working with Emma? I’m familiar with her and her work, and it wouldn’t be as much of a switch after everything with Graham.”

August had waved her protests aside. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t want to add to your workload like that, what with Emma working on a new project.” Before she had a chance to say that she wouldn’t mind, he had left her office.

It had felt very dismissive, and, somehow, very wrong.

To be sure, Killian Jones was highly qualified, but it had all happened so quickly. She’d brought it up once to Regina, but she’d also just waved the whole thing aside, seemingly unconcerned.

“Whatever gets Miss Swan writing better and gets us more sales,” she has said, barely lifting her eyes from her phone.

It was a lot of waving things aside, basically.

So Cleo ignored her initial reservations. Now, though, they were cropping back up. With such a serious and immediate dispute between author and editor, normally she would recommend things be reassigned. And she had been planning to. There were a number of projects she could shift to Killian so that she could take over duties of Emma’s new novel herself. She was a known quantity to Emma, it would smooth out her otherwise tempestuous edges.

That was until August had come into her office later the same afternoon she had spoken to  Emma.

She had snapped to attention as soon as he entered. “Good, I wanted to talk to you about somethi–”

He dropped himself in the chair across from her desk and didn’t wait for her to finish speaking. “I heard about that little scuffle between Swan and Jones. Was that what you were planning on bringing up?”

“Yes, and I think there’s an argument to be made for–”

He cut her off again. “Look, Cleo, I know they didn’t get off on the right foot, but I have faith that their partnership will be best for everyone.” He stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles. “Trust me on this,” he said in that smarmy, insincere way he had.

All good looks and no scruples, she thought as she fought to keep her nose from wrinkling in disgust. And if he interrupted her again she might actually punch him.

Okay, so maybe she hated one of her bosses. Not that she could blame herself, August was pretty much the worst. She couldn’t get a read on his game, but he didn’t seem motivated by love of books, that’s for sure.

“Why, sir? If there’s so much tension already, why shouldn’t I reassign Jones and take on Emma myself? She and I get on well, and I know I could help smooth out some of her rougher edges.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cleo. Jones will make it work.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of her chair. “See, we think he and Swan will work well. You know, PR stuff, that you might not get. Top-level corporate stuff. I can explain it if you want…”

By sheer force of will, she managed not to visibly roll her eyes. What a condescending little prick.

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” she said dryly.

“Awesome.” He gave her a wide smile and stood. “So, can I count on you to mediate this?”

She sighed internally. “If the situation warrants it. Hopefully Mr. Jones and Miss Swan can act like the adults they are.”

“Thanks, Cleo. You’re the best,” August said, shooting her a wink as he exited her office.

“‘You’re the best’,” she mimicked under her breath in her best quiet impression of his voice. “I’d be better if I didn’t have to put up with this bullshit.”

Then the next day, Jones had plodded into her office, all conflicted tension and faux angst. The guy was a shit, and one who knew he was hot stuff, but she couldn’t deny he had talent. Besides, he seemed honest enough about wanting to fix things.

Something wasn’t right though. She got a weird vibe from Killian–he was too insistent on fixing things with Emma, even if he seemed genuine about wanting do so. Most people would let a conflict like this take its natural course and resolve itself. So that, coupled with August’s push to make them the new dream team of Mills & Booth…it stank to high heaven.

She would eat her hat if something wasn’t wrong with this whole scenario. She hadn’t written and edited her share of mysteries and thrillers for nothing, and she could smell some kind of setup.

If only she knew what.

With narrowed eyes, she clicked on the new message she received from August…asking her if she’d managed to smooth things over for Swan and Jones to work together. She got ready to reply, shaking her head.

This whole thing bore watching. And she would be the one to do it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma turns in some first drafts, and Killian sees another connection between them. His realization of how much her book means to her sparks a realization of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Today I’m going to make like a hobbit and post this chapter (though I’ll let you decide how much of a gift that is, haha.) Just know that your comments and likes and kudos and bookmarks have been cherished and squealed over. Both @bleebug and @shady-swan-jones made some fabulous art for this chapter, which you should definitely check out on tumblr! And all the love and thanks to Kris/sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

_Killian_

Killian pressed his hand to his temple, willing the headache to stay away. He hadn’t seen Emma since his meeting with her at Granny’s a couple weeks before. They’d exchanged emails back and forth, terse on her end and exceedingly polite ( _he might be compensating for something_ , his brain whispered) on his.

But today was the day he’d asked for her prospectus and an outline. It was due at the end of the day, which was rapidly approaching. He glanced up at the clock, wincing when he saw that it was nearly three in the afternoon.

Then he heard a knock on his office door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Emma said, poking her head around the door. You could have knocked him over with a feather, he was so surprised to see her.

She looked lovely as always in her simple plaid dress, leggings, and leather jacket. She was even wearing glasses, and he felt some of his frustration draining away at the sight of her. “Er, hello, Swan.”

“I brought you a present.” There was something cautious in her voice, softer than he was expecting given their previous interactions.

“Oh, whatever could it be? Flowers? Chocolates?” He grinned at her, hoping to play his eagerness off as light-hearted flirtation and teasing.

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth as she walked toward his desk. “No, Jones. A draft.”

“A draft?”

“Of the first chapter. I have the outline and abstract-y thing you wanted too.”

He glanced up at her sharply. “Well, that’s exciting. I was only expecting the latter two.”

“I got extra inspired,” she said, shrugging.

“Then I’m excited to read it, after I look over the outline and, er, ‘abstract-y thing’ as you say.”

Emma sat down, her hands falling to her lap. “I–listen, I figured you might want to take a look at a sample of an earlier draft of my writing, and we could see how to work with it together from there.”

_Keep your face neutral, mate_ , he told himself, inwardly dancing for joy at the tentative olive branch she was offering. Outwardly, he said, “That’ll be excellent, lo-Emma.”

Her face broke into a full grin. “Lo-Emma, huh?”

“Just doing my best to abide by our new no-moniker rules, but old habits are hard to break.”

“No, it’s cool. I think it’s how I’ll introduce myself from now on.” She was smirking, so he took her gentle mockery as a good thing.

Shaking his head, Killian feigned a dramatic sigh. “I see how it’s to be.”

She looked like she was about to say more, but then she started. “Oh! Before I forget–” She placed a small thumb drive on the edge of his desk. “Here’s the drive that has everything on it.”

He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wouldn’t an email have been simpler?”

“Simpler, maybe. Certainly less secure.”

“Ah, you fear hacking?” He was intrigued. She didn’t seem like the paranoid type.

“Well, my website was hacked once a few months ago.” She shrugged. “And my work in bail bonds taught me that the less you keep online, the better.”

He picked up the thumb drive and inserted it into his laptop. “Hang on, I didn’t realize you actually worked in bail bonds. I thought you tailed had one for a while.”

“And here I’d have thought you’d have done your homework better,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “No, I worked in bail bonds for a few years. It helped me pay the bills and get a feel for the world of law enforcement, since that’s what I wanted to write about.”

“And you did a magnificent job. Your knowledge of the criminal underworld and the people involved with bringing them to justice certainly came through in the text,” he hurried to reassure her.

A wry look he couldn’t quite decipher crossed her face. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. I learned a lot over the years.”

“Your first book was excellent, Swan. It’s plain to see that a lot of research and knowledge went into it.”

That finally drew a genuine smile from her. “I’m glad you think so. Fruit of my labor and all that jazz.”

“Ah, yes.” He shook his head and carded his fingers through his hair. “Which explains why my initial approach went over like lead in water.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you’re right, there’s room for improvement.”

“Nonetheless, I apologize for my rudeness and the way I expressed myself. It was…ill-advised.”

Emma snorted but gave him a small smile. “No shit. But thanks for the apology. Besides, I could have handled the situation–and the criticism–better.”

He waved that aside. “You behaved as most people would when their child was attacked. And your book, as you put it, being the fruit of your labor…”

That same indefinable look from earlier came back to her face, but she pressed on. “Fair enough. So, should we, I dunno, let bygones be bygones?”

“Sounds excellent,” he said, clearing his throat. “Oh, one last thing–in light of said disagreements, I was hoping that we could be a bit more collaborative in our approach. If, perhaps, I was able to find a good, secure server for us to work on, would you be fine with putting the any future work there?”

She hesitated. “Um, if you can? But I want to okay it first, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly. I still have some military and and journalistic contacts who need higher degrees of security, so I’m sure they’ll have something to recommend.”

She bit her lip, mulling this over. “That should work.”

Killian told himself not to let his gaze drop to said lips. “Excellent. Would you like me to get in touch if I find something?”

“Sure. You can call or email.”

He relaxed back into his chair, some of the tension draining from him. “Wonderful. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

&&&

Killian worked at home the next day, having received permission to do so occasionally. After all, today was about doing his first read-through of Emma’s draft, and he wanted to be comfortable while doing so.

After she’d left his office the previous day, he had let Cleo, August, and Regina know that she’d met the deadline. He’d met with a variety of reactions, from Regina’s “Very well, keep on,” to August’s enthusiastic response and desire to be kept in the loop entirely, to Cleo’s subdued but measuring acceptance and comment that she was glad they’d found a way to work together. He’d been tasked with looking over some promising manuscripts, so had spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that.

And now his reward–getting to sit in his comfortable but spartan apartment, drinking coffee and rum while he edited from his favorite chair.

The blasted thing had finally arrived from the UK, one of the few items of furniture he refused to part with in the move. Honestly, it was a monstrosity, an old reclining wingback chair, but it had been Liam’s. For all its resistance to classification, it was comfortable. He’d spent many an hour in the ridiculous thing. On his own in a sullen, drunken fog. Sitting next to Milah in the daintier chair she’d selected, or his favorite of all–when she’d slipped onto his lap and they’d snuggled in the chair.

(The usual dull ache was still present when he thought of Milah, but its sharpness was starting to fade. Killian wondered what that meant.)

Pouring himself a small glass of rum and carrying that and his coffee with him over to the chair, he situated himself with a blanket and pulled up Emma’s summary and outline.

An hour later, he was immersed in her outline, writing notes and comments for parts he wanted to talk about and hear more about. He couldn’t wait.

As he continued to read, he came to a realization–only someone who had lived through the foster care system could write about it so knowledgeably and so passionately. This wasn’t just a plotline for Emma. This was more–this was her  _life_.

Killian bit his lip, regretting some of his previous comments and assumptions about her and wondering how he should proceed. He wanted–no, needed–to make sure she knew he would support her. And that he understood, perhaps better than she knew.

He debated calling or texting her, but finally settled on an email, giving her space so that she didn’t feel obligated to acknowledge or respond to him.

He hesitated, unsure of how to begin.

_Swan–_

_Right now, I just want to take the moment to tell you how thrilled, how in awe I am of your talent and skill with words._

_I have comments, queries, and edits, but before I go over that, I needed to let you know how excited I am for this novel. (Oh, and as an aside, a friend showed me a server that I think will do nicely for us. I’ll be in my office tomorrow if you want to check it out, but you can always call if you’d like to make sure I’m there.)_

_Not only does your book promise to be well-written, but you’re handling this sensitive topic amazingly well._

_Confession: I was in the system myself (albeit in the UK), along with my brother. My mum passed away when Liam and I were quite young, and my dad ran out on us a couple years after that. I was all of nine years old, and Liam was just fifteen._

_We muddled along for the next few years. Some of the homes were pleasant enough, while others were…well, hell. Liam joined the military at eighteen to try to take care of us, and I was able to leave the system at sixteen. I can’t imagine the struggles that would come with being in for even longer._

_Having shared all this personal information–and my apologies if this makes things awkward–I am beyond relieved to see how you plan on handling the topic of foster care and foster children._

_If you ever want to have a chat about this, you know where to find me. My personal number is 555-687-9305, in case you ever need another perspective or to share stories (excuse my presumption if I’m wrong)._

Killian hesitated, trying to decide on the best way to end the missive, as he was already toeing the line between professional and personal.

_Best, Killian_

_P.S. I particularly like the depth of characterization for the main character and the sense of doom and offness that’s present even in the first chapter._

There. That should do it.

He clicked send and hoped Emma wouldn’t be too put off by his email.

&&&

Killian awoke feeling vaguely nervous and apprehensive about work. He hadn’t checked his email yet, but he hadn’t received a reply from Emma the previous day. He knew it was too soon and that she might need time to see his message, let alone respond. But still, it made him anxious.

To keep himself distracted, he’d responded to a text from Robin Locksley, taking him up on an invitation to meet him at a little pub that Robin swore was just like those at home. Hearing familiar accents had been a relief, a balm for his somewhat weary soul. And Robin seemed like a good sort, for a detective. He was a widower, his wife had been good friends with Milah in the early years of their careers. They’d grown apart, but the tenuous connection had provided some good bonding between him and Robin. They’d drunk just enough to do their country proud but not so much that either would be hungover today.

After greeting Ariel cheerfully (well, with as much as he could muster–no match for her levels, to be sure) and nodding politely to Cleo when he passed her in the hall, he slipped into his chair and took a deep breath as he turned on his computer. He opened his email, and…

Nothing.

Nary a short “okay” from Emma, not even a single, pointed word. Dammit.

He rubbed his hand over his face, not having realized how much he’d hoped she would recognize him as a kindred spirit, a fellow lost boy to her lost girl. He was so distracted by his thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a short knock on his door before. He looked over to find Emma poking her head into his office.

“Hey. Am I interrupting anything?” She frowned, her forehead wrinkling making her look uncertain and a little wary, and nothing short of perfect.

He nearly tripped, stumbling to his feet to greet her. “No! Not at all. Come in, come in.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. She handed him a coffee cup and lifted her own in acknowledgment. “Thank you. For the feedback and the email. And for telling me about the rest.”

“Oh, er, right…” he fought the urge to scratch behind his ear. What was it about this woman that made him feel like a teenager all over again?

She seemed to pick up on his awkwardness. “So yeah. Thank you.”

“I–it was really no trouble, Swan. I meant what I said la–”

“I’m here to ask you on a date.”

“–st ni–pardon?!”

Emma looked at him, the crease in her brow deepening at his lack of comprehension. He clearly had thrown her off with his stuttering response. She took a breath. “I’m asking you out?”

“Oh!” he said, scratching a finger at the lid of his coffee cup. “Er, as long as it’s not a question…er, yes.”

She smiled then, one of her brilliant, full smiles, and he felt as though he’d been blinded by the sun. “Awesome.”

He smiled back, unable to stop himself. “I have just one condition–let me plan the date.”

“Hey, I was going to show you the town,” she pouted.

He laughed and took a step toward her. “No offense, love, but while you are the one I’d turn to for a well-crafted paragraph, I think planning romantic outings might be more my area of expertise.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the corner of her mouth still twitched. “You still can’t call me ‘love’.”

“Fine, Emma,” he sighed dramatically, trying to fight off another grin.

She stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them. “Lo-Emma, though,” she said, tapping a finger against her mouth, “that’s cool.”

“Good to know.”

She took a step back. “Cool.”

“So…shall I let you know when I’ve made plans for our date?”

Emma nodded at him happily, smiling serenely as she bid him farewell for now.

&&&

By the time he was able to organize something that worked for both his and Emma’s schedules, it was nearly a week later. Killian hoped the evening would suit her. He just wanted a good way for them to get to know each other better.

And they had been. Getting to know each other, that is.

While they hadn’t had a chance to see each other again, the days had been filled with texts and emails between them. Most were light, casual things, but a few…well, Killian was reminded of his near-celibacy since Milah’s death (other than a brief, alcohol-fueled spell where he had gone home from the bar with a different woman every night, which had ended abruptly when one had stolen a vintage compass that had been a gift from Liam).

Now, as he buttoned his vest in preparation for their date, he felt his gut churning. It was mostly excitement, to be sure. Being around Emma–it was to know life, excitement, both things he’d forgotten about in his grief and anger.

But he couldn’t pretend that part of what was bothering him wasn’t guilt. It had been almost two years since Milah’s passing, and he knew it was time to move on. Milah would want this; he knew that on an intellectual level. He and Emma had something that he wanted to explore.

But was he betraying Milah’s memory? Was he ready?

And then there was the other part of this that left him uneasy…his obligations to August. Now, more than ever, he regretted agreeing to August’s schemes and subterfuge. It made him feel dirty, and however she’d feel about Emma, Milah would hate this.

So would Emma. Actually, hate probably wasn’t strong enough–she’d loathe it, and she’d be right to never speak to him again if she found out.

He had to find a way to end this foul partnership and distance himself from August, even if it would cost him his job and whatever was growing between him and Emma. Even if he had to return to his apartment in London, with the intimidating blokes watching it…

But he would do it, because it was the right thing, and it was time for him to make better choices.

&&&

“I’m done,” Killian said without preamble.

“What? What are you talking about?” replied the voice at the other end of the line.

“I’m done keeping tabs on Emma, done spying on her for you. From now on, you’ll get the same updates as Cleo and Regina.”

There was a long silence, and then August spoke. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jones? My…partner…won’t be happy to hear about this.”

“I’m sure.”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you owe us. For getting you out of the mess you were in, and for getting you settled in here. We can make things  _very_  unpleasant for you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m sure you can, but I’m also confident that I’m the best choice for editor. I’ll continue doing my job,and I’ll repay my debt. Just not like that.”

August snorted. “Emma’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? Graham liked her too. If he’d lived, the two of them probably would have made a go of it. For all I know, they were going at it–”

“Enough. Emma’s past is her own, and her present is hers to decide. Do what you’d like with me, but leave her out of it.”

“You can’t afford the price to be paid, Jones. And you’re too much of a coward to try to pay it anyway. It’s part of what made you such a good choice.”

Killian hung up, the vein in his forehead throbbing. “We’ll see,” he said. “We shall see.”

He smiled grimly at his reflection in the mirror. It was time to meet Emma for their date, and he had to get himself in line. She didn’t need to know about his turmoil, about this mess of a situation. She  _couldn’t_  know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll love you forever if you hit me up with a comment or two!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Killian go on their first date, and Emma reflects on the connection between them. A surprise visitor shows up, but what do they want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and commenting--I love you all! And a million thanks to the people who helped make this what it is.

Emma took a deep breath as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She knew she looked good, and for the price of her red Herve Leger bandage dress, she’d better. She had left her hair down, curling around her shoulders in a way she knew was fetching.

And she needed it. Needed every bit of confidence she could summon. Killian Jones was…a lot. In a good way, and she was excited, but…she was also nervous.

He was good-looking, intelligent, and talented. All of it made him feel a little out of her league, her recent successes notwithstanding. She knew she was smart, talented, and attractive, too. But part of her–a large part of her–would probably always feel like the orphan she was. A lost girl. Unwanted. Alone.

Then it turned out that the connection she’d felt with Killian was based on more than just pure lust or attraction. He was…he was like her. He’d had a brother, sure, but he’d lost him too.

After their first meeting, she had done her homework on him. She’d found out about the accident, about Milah, about everything that was available to the public. In a way, it had humanized him. Plus, Ruby had told her he’d holed up at Granny’s for days waiting for a chance to speak to her. His professionalism and hard work over the subsequent weeks had further softened her enough that by the time they met so she could hand over her initial materials, she was ready to be friendly. It had felt easy.

And then he sent that damn email.

She had already decided a friendship with him was something she wanted, but to see how very much they had in common–well, it changed things. He clearly understood where she was coming from, and his concern over whether he was crossing a line had been endearing. She hadn’t been able to respond right away, lost in her own emotions. Emma had had a restless night of tossing and turning as she tried to figure out how she wanted to reply. As dawn approached, she finally acknowledged to herself how attracted she was to him. That, on top of everything else they had in common, she wanted to explore what was or could be there, if given the chance.

Whatever was between them, Emma hadn’t felt anything like it for the better part of a decade. And even then, it was different from what it had been like with Neal.

 _Neal._  Emma fought the urge to push away thoughts of him as she had for the past eleven years. Killian’s email to her had been bold, vulnerable. He deserved the same kind of honesty in return. If he wanted to be involved with her, maybe she should share…no, she decided with a shake of her head, it wasn’t time.

She felt the uncertainty of a first date rising in her chest. It had been so long since she’d done this, and the last time had been a disaster. And that had been without any feelings of any kind, at least on her end.

How did people do this? Date? Tell others about their lives, about what mattered to them? What was in their hearts? The best way Emma had to express herself was through her books. Writing it down, it made it easier. Sharing her past, her life, was hard. When she had time to mull over what she was saying, though, and how to say it, when she didn’t have to look the person in the eye as they found out what a mess she was–that was easier.

And with as rough a start as she and Killian had gotten off to, it was probably better to play it cool, let him see some of the best of her. Hell, he’d already figured out she had been in the system, she didn’t need to tell him all the dirty details of what had gone down when she was seventeen. At least not for now.

Giving herself a final approving look and tugging on her dress, Emma buzzed Killian up. She took a deep breath and smiled, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

&&&

Emma opened the door to Killian’s smiling face. “Hello, Swan.”

“Killian,” she began, pausing when she saw his attire.  _Jesus H. Christ_. His usual trousers and button ups were hot, but this…the tight jeans, the leather vest and jacket over a dark button-up…it did things to her.

His nervous grin morphed into a smirk. “I know.” He held out a single red rose to her.

She rolled her eyes as she took the it from him, teasing him lightly. “So modest.”

“Well, it behooves a man to be self-aware,” he said.

She smiled and stepped back, dropping the rose into one of the little milk glass vases she had out on the console table in the hallway. When she turned back around, Killian was still smiling at her. He shook his head.

“Emma…if I forget to say it the rest of the evening, it’s only because I’m too gobsmacked. You look stunning.”

Her lips curved gently. “Thanks. You ready to go? What’s the plan?”

His eyes trailed down her form, lingering on the way the dress clung to her curves. “Give me a minute to appreciate this dress,” he said, reaching out to her, “and then we’ll head to dinner. I made us reservations at one of my favorite places.”

Emma snorted at his ill-disguised lust. “Cool it, Tiger.”

He met her eyes and feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, right,” she said, taking the arm he offered her.

They made their way outside, and Emma tried to ignore how hyper-aware she was of the way his jacket brushed against her bare arm, the heady scent of the cologne he wore, and, really, just how overwhelming Killian himself was.

She started to head toward the T, but he led her to a black Town Car instead. “This way, Swan.”

“Ooh, fancy. Bringing out the big guns, huh?”

“It was no trouble, and you deserve it. Also, the T smells.” He smiled and winked at her.

She couldn’t help it, she laughed happily as she slipped into the car, Killian sliding in next to her as she moved over. “Okay, it totally does. But it’s really not a big deal most of the time.”

“Is that how you get around the city? I’d think you’d want a vehicle of your own.”

_Jeez, was her independent streak that visible to the naked eye?_

“Oh, I have a car. My old ‘73 Bug,” she said, hoping the nostalgia and melancholy weren’t completely written on her face. “I’ve put a lot of work into that car, but honestly? Walking or taking the T is easier most of the time.”

“I get that. It runs fairly smoothly, even if it isn’t quite at the level of the Tube.”

She bumped his shoulder where he sat next to her. “Hey, don’t mock Boston. It might not be London, but it has a lot to offer.”

His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “That it does.”

Emma blushed. “Anyway, where are we headed?”

“I read excellent things about SRV. Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it too, but haven’t been. Shit, am I overdressed?”

“You look perfect. Just dressed enough, in fact,” he said, winking salaciously.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

He leaned into her space. “Cute, am I? Not dashingly handsome, or a rakish rapscallion?”

She gave him an evaluating once-over. “You may have a whole pirate thing going–”

“Ah! The whole Captain Hook imagery, aye?” Killian asked, holding up his prosthetic hand.

“–but just so you know, I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date,” she said, ignoring his interruption.

His answering grin was nothing short of wolfish. “That’s because you haven’t been out with me.”

“Getting cocky, aren’t you?” She pressed two fingers into his shoulder, prodding him back to his side of the car. “No, don’t even go there, Captain Innuendo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Low-hanging fruit and all, you know,” he drawled, but his eyes were crinkled in amusement and he was clearly fighting off a smirk.

She just shook her head at him and faced forward.

&&&

Once they arrived, Killian helped her out of the car and into the restaurant. He’d clearly requested one of the quieter tables toward the back, and Emma appreciated the relative privacy.

“This is lovely, Killian. Thank you.”

“I told you I know how to plan a date, Swan.”

“So you do,” she said, smirking at him. “Lots of practice, huh?”

He scratched behind his ear nervously. “I won’t deny that I did back in the day, but not much since I lost my love, or before that, my hand.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. Foot in mouth disease is definitely a problem of mine. Just…ignore me.”

“No, Emma, it’s fine, really. A lot of people seem to know about Milah and what happened, I just don’t always know who. And I don’t mind speaking of it as much now, unless it bothers you.”

She met his eyes, the earnest look in them making her smile turn a little melancholy and wistful. She knew the whos and whats of the story, but not the feelings behind it. “You must have loved her very much.”

“Aye. And part of me always will. I just…I never dreamed I’d be capable of moving on. Not until very recently.”

Equal parts nerves and excitement rose in her at what she thought he was implying, what he might mean. “Recently, huh?”

He reached across the table for her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Well, I won’t deny that a certain fiery lass with a penchant for writing bestsellers has had something do it. But it–you–helped me see that maybe I’m not the only one suffering. I had been rather self-involved in my grief.”

She nodded in understanding, her nervousness abating. “I know what you mean. In the thick of it, it’s hard to remember that other people are just out there living their lives, some of which are filled with just as much pain and shit as your own.”

“Indeed.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “So…you figured out I was in the system.”

“Like calls to like,” he said, dipping his head in acknowledgment and rubbing his thumb along hers.

“I was in it from the time I was a baby. I was found on the side of the road, and while I was almost adopted a couple of times, it never panned out. I stayed until I was about sixteen, when…I just left.”

His eyes softened. “I can’t imagine being in it that long. It must have been….”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing away from the table.

“Well,” He squeezed her hand and she turned back to him. ”If you don’t mind my saying so, you turned out remarkably well.”

Emma shook her head at him. “Is this the part where you get all flirtatious again?”

“I can if you’d like, but I meant it. Lasting that long in the system has clearly made you very resilient.”

She flushed and shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks. I mean, you obviously know how it goes.”

“Differences between our two countries notwithstanding, yes.” He looked thoughtful, his eyes distant even as they remained on her.

A not entirely awkward silence fell between them and the server came by for their orders. Sipping at her wine–a delightful red from a Tuscan vineyard she couldn’t pronounce–Emma cocked her head at Killian. “So what brought you here? London is a pretty hopping town for publishing. Not that I’m not glad you’re here…”

A flash of something like discomfort crossed his face, but he replied, “Ah, after Milah passed away, I needed a change. I knew August, and things just…fell together.”

His reply felt a little off, but Emma didn’t get the sense he was exactly lying to her. Well, if he was leaving something out, that was his business. She wasn’t exactly scrambling to tell him the most painful things in her life either, so she ignored the twinge in her gut and smiled at him.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I, lass. Oh bugger it, Emma. Sorry.”

She laughed at him. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s different now that it’s not so–I don’t know, we know each other a little better now.”

“And I’d like to know you better still.”

She grinned. “Smooth, Jones, smooth.”

He grinned back at her, eyes twinkling. “I try.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she muttered to herself.

He lifted her hand to his lips and she drew in a breath as he pressed the lightest of kisses to her knuckles.

“It’s interesting, you know? Being successful, fairly happy, in a place like this…with someone like you,” she said, gesturing toward him.

He smirked, cockiness evident in the way he leaned further across the table.

Emma continued, “I mean it. Like, I was always poor, barely scraping by. All the other kids seemed to look down on me. And now I’m here. That little bit of luck, the support of Granny and Ruby, and some hard work. I don’t know, it’s just odd.” She gave a small shrug. “In a good way.”

That indefinable something crossed his face again, but he nodded. “I think I know what you mean. ‘There but for the grace of God, go I’ and all that.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you and Ruby are close then?”

She snorted. “Figured that one out from that visit, did you?”

Killian tried winking at her, a pitiful attempt that was somehow endearing. “Aye, I might have.”

“Yeah, I started working for Granny when I was eighteen…” she said, slipping easily into the story of how she’d come to know the Lucases, and how much they meant to her.

Their food came, and the conversation didn’t slow. Emma was amazed by how at ease she felt around him. She hated that the evening would eventually have to come to an end.

&&&

Hours later, once their meal had ended and they had taken a walk along the Charles River, he flagged a cab for them to take her back to her apartment building. He walked her to the building’s entry, holding her hand the entire time.

Her stomach fluttered the entire walk to the door and she struggled to identify the emotions swirling around her.  _Giddy_. That’s what this feeling was.

“I had a lovely time, Emma,” he said as let go of her hand and pulled the door open for her.

“I did too.” She smiled and took his hand again as she passed. “If you wanted to do this again…”

“I do. Definitely,” he said quickly.

When they reached the elevator, he stopped, looking nervous as he bit at his lower lip. He glanced down at her, seeming indecisive as his gaze drifted to her own lips.

Emma made up her mind for them, and tangled her hand in the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close for a kiss. It started out feverishly intense, and as his tongue met hers, she felt  _want_  rising in her. When oxygen became an issue, she pulled back, trailing her fingernails down through the chest hair on display. He shivered, and she took a moment to enjoy how unsteady he looked.

“Do you want to come upstairs for…coffee?”

His eyes darkened and he drew in a shuddering breath. “Aye.”

Killian followed her into her apartment, glancing around at the rather spartan environs as she moved him toward the living room. His eyes fell on her beloved chair, almost as if he recognized it, and he nodded approvingly, seeming ready to comment on it when Emma pulled him onto the couch.

Judging by his silence and the bobbing of his throat, she didn’t think he was about to say anything about the texture of the upholstery. She widened her grin and swung her leg over him so that she was straddling his lap. He gulped as she dragged her lips along his jawline and she hesitated, his seeming reticence making her wonder if he wanted this, if he was ready for it.

(God, she was. Almost embarrassingly so.)

Then the indecision left his expression, and he settled his prosthetic around her waist while he cupped the back of her head with his other hand, pulling her closer to him. Their lips met, and all rational thought flew right out the window.

He kissed her fiercely, hungrily, and she gave as good as she got. He traced his tongue along her lips, and she opened to him. His arms tightened around her as she pulled away and nipped at his bottom lip before throwing herself back into their kiss.

Killian moaned into it, and Emma couldn’t help herself. She rocked her hips against his, the beginnings of his arousal pressing into her and turning her on even more. Normally, this would be the part where she demanded they take off their clothes and get on with it, but this…she didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. Killian would still be there tomorrow, still be part of her life. It was equal parts comforting and thrilling, and she channeled her nerves into further deepening their kiss. She used it to fuel the desperation and passion as she moved against him.

Her dress had ridden up around her hips, and Killian ran his hand down her bare thigh, even as moved away from her lips to trail his mouth along her neck. He nipped at the soft skin, then soothing it with his tongue before moving on. She could feel him straining against her, his erection pressing hard against her core as he thrust up against her.

 _Just a few layers of fabric_ , Emma thought a little frantically,  _and we’d be…_ She forced the thought to fade, determined to make this last, to enjoy the moment.

She realized that while she had definitely enjoyed his attentions, she had been neglecting exploration of her own. And damn did she want to explore. She shifted in Killian’s lap, and he groaned loudly at her movements.

She shifted and pushed him back so he was lying down on the couch, and she leaned over him, nipping at his ear, tracing its pointed tip with her tongue. His hand tightened around her hip before drifting to her ass. He squeezed lightly, and Emma giggled in his ear before gently biting his stubbled chin.

“God, Emma, you’re a marvel…”

“Mmm…”

Emma was making her way down his neck, pressing lingering kisses to his throat as she drifted down to his exposed collarbones. She had never been more grateful for such an apparent hatred of buttons as she was now, and she sucked a mark into the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder. He hoarsely voiced his enthusiastic approval.

She didn’t stop rubbing herself against him, and he continued to thrust up against her. She shuddered as he did, fairly certain this would be the first time since she was a teenager that she was going to come from dry humping. She was beyond caring at the moment though, because if Killian was this good now, she could only imagine later, when they’d be naked in her bed…

She shuddered in his arms at the thought, pleasure starting to fog her brain as the ridge of his erection pressed along her clit. Then he pulled down the straps of her dress, one at a time. She had to take a breath as the cool air of her apartment hit her breasts.

“Christ, love,” he moaned, his fingers hovering at where the edge of dress hung at her ribs. “You were naked under this dress the whole night?”

She hummed, shifting against him, hoping to encourage him to touch her. “Well, I’m wearing underwear, but yeah.” She had to stop herself from rambling, knowing it would just lead to the mood being killed. And she was so close…

Killian was still staring at her exposed breasts. He looked positively gobsmacked, but Emma wanted–no, needed–more. “You gonna stare all day or actually going to do something about it?”

His eyes snapped up to hers, and he grinned. “Patience, Swan. I like to take my time…” He began a series of light kisses starting at the corner of her mouth, down the center of her chest. “…savor the best things,” he said, nosing along the curve of her breast, his breath warm on her skin, “and make sure we both get what we want.” At that, he closed his mouth over her nipple, biting lightly as he reached up to caress the other with his hand.

She couldn’t hold in her loud moan. Desire for him consumed her, sweeping through her as she clenched her thighs around his hips. “Mmm, Killian, I need…”

“You’re so lovely, Emma. You feel so good. Tell me what you need.”

Instead of answering him in words, she pulled away and made quick work of his vest. She started on his shirt, her movements hampered by the attention he was still lavishing on her chest. She had just succeeded in removing his shirt when a loud knock sounded at the door.

Emma stilled, and Killian pulled back, taking a deep breath. “Swan?”

“I don’t know. If we’re really quiet, maybe they’ll go away,” she whispered.

He chuckled quietly and shook his head against her chest, pressing another kiss to the inside of her breast.

Another loud knock sounded, and she let out frustrated breath as she pulled up the top of her dress, tugging it back to decency before sliding off his lap. Killian sighed, pulling on his shirt and placing one of the couch’s throw pillows in his lap to hide his very obvious erection.

 _Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long_ , Emma thought desperately, straightening out her skirt as she walked toward the door.

She looked through the peephole, surprised to see a young boy at the door. He looked oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Knowing her tone was a little rude (but hey, it was late and holy interruption hell), she opened the door and gritted out, “Yes?”

“Are you Emma Swan?”

“I am,” she said cautiously, glancing back at Killian. Who the hell was this kid? A fan? He seemed a little young…

“I’m Henry Mills, and I’m pretty sure I’m the kid you gave up for adoption eleven years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a line if you want to chat or scream about fic! I'm on tumblr as emmaswanchoosesyou.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma talks to Henry, and Killian is shocked to learn about her past. They talk to Regina about the situation and Emma makes plans to meet with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and kudos and reblogs and what have you! None of this would be possible without the fine folks of the CSBB or Kris, Kayla, Phira, and Sophie. (And make sure you check out the awesome art @bleebug did for the chapter on tumblr!)

Killian was flummoxed, and completely out of his depths. He had no idea how to proceed, how to act when the child– _the unexpected, not-previously-mentioned-child_ –of the woman with whom he’d just been getting rather intimately acquainted burst into the apartment. He started, grabbing his shirt and slipping it on, realizing that no matter what else, his shirtlessness probably wouldn’t be helpful. He scrambled to button himself up as Emma stood in the doorway with Henry, wondering why the lad’s name sounded so damn familiar.

 _Shit. Mills?_ , he thought as he stood up.  _No, it couldn’t be. Could it?_

“Kid? Uh, you can come in, and we can talk about this,” Emma said, looking back at Killian to make sure he was decent. He nodded to her.

Henry traipsed in, dropping his bag inside the doorway and looking around the apartment. He seemed nonchalant, seeing no need for formality or standing on ceremony. Spotting Killian, he smiled and waved. “Hi, I’m Henry. Who are you?”

“Er, Killian. Killian Jones.” He was doing his best not to gape at the lad, but was failing rather miserably.

“Oh. Are you my birth mom’s husband? Or boyfriend?”

Killian gawked at him, speechless. “Erm…”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Are you my dad?!”

“No!” he blurted out and then started again, “Um, no. No.”He worked at tucking his shirt in, his fingers tangling in his belt loop as he tried to avoid looking at the boy. As he straightened, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this out of sorts, but he probably hadn’t been much older than Henry.

Emma cut in, praise be to all the gods. “Killian’s a good friend. But, kiddo–Henry, I need to know–why do you think I’m your mother?”

“Well, I was given up for adoption as a baby. In Phoenix, Arizona. And you were there in jail at the same time, and you gave up a baby for adoption. It just makes sense,” he said calmly. His hazel eyes stared up at Emma, hope radiating from him.

She bit her lip, clearly at a loss and Killian stared at her, flabbergasted at all the things he clearly hadn’t learned about her. She definitely hadn’t mentioned a stint in jail, but she wasn’t denying it to the boy right now.

 _Jesus_ , they had a lot to talk about. But later, when her son (god, her  _son_ ) wasn’t here in the thick of it.

Emma gestured for Henry to sit in the chair Killian knew was her favorite. He smiled briefly, thinking of her talking about her writing chair earlier in the evening, the leather already a little worn from frequency of use. “I got it with my first royalty check, and it took over my old apartment. But it’s where I do most of my writing, and I love it. It just seems…writerly, you know?” she had mused while they had sat at dinner.

She tugged him back into the moment, reaching for his hand and pulling him down beside her onto the couch. He squeezed her hand lightly, trying to convey his support. Whatever happened with their discussion later, he knew she needed his support now–and he would give it.

“So, Henry, you found out I meet a lot of the criteria your birth mother had. Because you’re right, I was in jail in Phoenix eleven years ago, and I did give a baby up for adoption. But how did you  _find_  me? Those records were sealed.”

Henry looked sheepish, his eyes darting to the side as he fidgeted. “Oh. Um. I…might have borrowed my mom’s credit card? There was a website and P.I., and well, it led to you.” Henry shrugged and settled further back into the chair. “Especially with who my mom is, you weren’t hard to find.”

Killian cleared his throat, finally finding his words. “Especially with who your mum is? Who is your mother?” He wracked his brain, trying to think who Henry’s mother could be. He knew something, he just couldn’t quite call it to mind.

“Regina Mills,” he said without a change in his upbeat tone. It was all so…guileless. “I think she’s your boss or something? That’s why it was so easy to find you.”

He and Emma exchanged panicked glances.  _Shit_. Shit shit shit. Regina Mills. The founder of Mills  & Booth. She preferred to work from home–which was apparently a small town in Maine. The impression Killian had gotten of her, while not unfavorable, had been of a no-nonsense woman. A hardass, even. An incredibly competent and successful one, but if she had a softer side, he hadn’t seen it. He had wondered for a moment when Henry had introduced himself, but while he had met with Regina enough to know her, he knew little else. Someone had once mentioned she had a son, but no age or other identifiers. And Mills wasn’t exactly a rare surname. Was it really her?

Killian wasn’t quite sure what this was, but he knew it wasn’t good.

Emma gripped his hand harder, and her breathing became more unsteady and more pronounced. “Henry…Regina Mills, of Mills & Booth, is your mother?

“Yep. She adopted me when I was a baby.”

“Does she…does she know you’re here?”

Henry focused his attention on his shoes. “Umm…probably not?”

“Shi-shoot! Uh, buddy, we’re going to have to call her and let her know where you are.”

Henry clenched his jaw. “Why? I don’t want to, and you’re my mom. And she probably won’t notice anyway.”

Killian felt Emma stiffen and shrink back into the couch and into his side. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but she clearly needed the comfort of his touch. He squeezed her hand as she took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, Henry, she’s probably freaking out. And…I may have given birth to you, but legally, Regina is your mom. If the police got involved, I could be arrested for kidnapping.”

The boy’s face fell. Killian felt for the lad, he really did, but Emma was beyond right–this was a dicey situation. He held back the urge to let out a hysterical, manic laugh. How…how did he end up here?

Things were so fragile right now, between the newness of whatever was between him and Emma and August’s not-so-subtle threats. On a purely selfish note, he had no desire to get involved in this situation, which could so easily turn hairy.

But then he saw Emma’s face, reflecting many of his fears and a few of her own, along with something shattered and broken that she was very clearly trying to hide. He glanced at Henry, taking in his mop of brown hair and the way he had pulled his feet up on Emma’s chair and pulled his knees up to his chest. Henry was only a boy. A misguided one, who clearly had no idea of the potential ramifications of what he’d done. Killian wasn’t sure what was going on his life, but he could see how miserable he was right now.

Killian just had no idea what, if anything, he should be saying. He wasn’t sure he belonged in this odd tableau.

Emma was still gripping his hand. Well, at least someone  _wanted_  him here, at least on a subconscious level. He subtly lifted her hand to his lips, brushing what he hoped was a comforting kiss across her knuckles.

She shot him a small smile before turning back to Henry. His shoulders were slumped, defeat evident in every line of his body.

“Hey, kid…Henry? We’ll get it figured out. You and your mom live in Maine, right?”

“Yeah.” The monosyllabic reply was almost sullen.

“Okay, well, unless you’re hiding a private airplane, we’re probably not going to be able to get you back until tomorrow anyway.”

(A small, exasperated voice in Killian’s head rudely whispered, _well, you’re most certainly not getting laid now_. Which, while undoubtedly true, was hardly the point given current events. Fortunately, most of his brain was on board with the change in plans, responding to its other, crasser side with a quick,  _shove off, you randy prick_.)

“Actually, how did you get here anyway?”

“Oh, um,” Henry said, averting his gaze and shifting in the chair. “Remember how I said I took my mom’s credit card that one time? It may not have just been the one time. I used it to pay for a bus ticket after school, and I told Mom I was going to a friend’s house for the night.”

Emma let out a low whistle and shook her head. “Jesus, kid.”

Killian tried to hold back his laugh. No one was going to accuse Henry of lacking gumption, that was certain. Though from the quelling look Emma shot him, he hadn’t succeeded entirely.

He made a zipping motion across his face. “Right, not saying a word.”

Henry cracked a smile at him before turning and looking expectantly at Emma.

She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath, sighing in exasperation. “Okay, so I do still have to call Regina and let her know you’re here. That’s non-negotiable, but as for the rest, if she doesn’t ask, I won’t tell her.”

“Cool!”

“Um, Henry? Can you help me out?” she asked, pointing to her phone. “I don’t have her personal number or anything.”

“Oh, sure.”

&&&

Killian took the opportunity to go freshen up in the bathroom while Emma called Regina.

 _Good lord, what a night_. He splashed some cold water onto his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was a mess, and he should rejoice that Henry was clearly sheltered enough not to notice the mark Emma had left on his neck. (Or perhaps the lad was just too polite.)

Killian was definitely frustrated. It was clear he and Emma wouldn’t be going any further this evening, even if Henry could somehow find a way home. The mood hadn’t just been killed, it had been obliterated. If he were being honest with himself, though, he knew they should probably slow down. It wasn’t that long ago that they were at each other’s throats, and there was still the book he was meant to edit for her.

But god, he wanted her. He pushed aside the physical discomfort of his thwarted arousal, though, needing to focus on something else.

Emma had a son.  _A son_.

One she’d not told him about. While he was busy telling her his life story, his past woes, she’d kept a massive secret. And not just one–apparently, she’d also neglected to mention she’d been in jail at one point.

He let out a deep, pent-up breath.

Clearly, she had her reasons for keeping those secrets. ( _He should know, considering his own secrets he was keeping._ ) How she’d managed to keep them from the public while she stepped into the limelight, though, he had no idea. Judging by Henry’s age and a couple of Emma’s comments, she must have been young when she was pregnant and in prison. Young enough that she could have been in a juvenile detention facility, her records now sealed and possibly expunged.

And suddenly, he was hit by the horror of it.

She would have been little more than a child when she gave birth to Henry, and under heinous circumstances. The road that had taken her there, the people responsible for it, they made him want to punch something. Killian knew his rage at the past, at circumstances beyond his control, might be futile, but it burned away the hurt at her keeping things from him.

He decided then that he needed to be next to Emma, needed to show her that whatever happened, she had his support. That whatever happened, he was so proud and amazed that she had managed to become such a wonderful woman.

&&&

When Killian emerged, Emma acknowledged him with a nod. She wearily pulled extra bedding out of the laundry room off the hall. He could hear the sound of Henry shifting around on a stool at the kitchen island, could smell the warm scent of the hot cocoa he was drinking, his slurps echoing through the open living area.

“Regina didn’t answer, so I left a message,” she said with a small shrug and pushed the room’s door closed. “At any rate, Henry’s getting pretty sleepy, so I was thinking of putting him on the couch for tonight, or until she gets back to me.”

He nodded back, uncertainty creeping up in him. Emma was tense again, clearly worried and probably confused. He approached her tentatively, she stood with her back to him, her stance ruler-straight and stiff. When he brushed his hand between her shoulder blades, she sagged and leaned back into him.

“I don’t know what to do.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she said, a strangled laugh escaping her.

“What can I do?”

She bit her lip, twisting her neck and looking up at him apologetically. “Sorry, but we’re going to have to put tonight’s plans on hold. I’m sure we have a whole bunch more things to talk about, but…”

“Now definitely isn’t the time.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Emma?” He gave her a small smile.

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, though I haven’t known you long, I can’t imagine you failing at something you set your mind to. You can do this.”

She took the bedding in one arm and slipped the other around his waist. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “Thank you. For all of it. For not freaking out, and for being here.”

“It was no trouble, Swan. Really.”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by her phone ringing loudly. She took a deep breath when she saw that it was Regina returning her call. She pulled away from him and answered.

“Hi, Regina? It’s Emma.”

He heard a garbled response that he was able to vaguely identify as Regina’s voice, sharp with worry and relief.

He thought about doing the decent thing and giving her privacy for this, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity. So he leaned closer. Henry clearly felt similarly, because he emerged from the kitchen to lean against the doorframe, his eyes trained on Emma.

Emma rolled her eyes at both of them, but pressed a button on the phone. She calmed a little and spoke, “Hey, Regina, I put you on speakerphone, so that way you can talk to Henry yourself.”

“Henry?! Are you okay?!”

“Uh, hi. And yeah, I’m fine. Emma even made me hot chocolate. The way I like, too, with the cinnamon and the whipped cream and–”

“Henry Daniel Mills, what were you thinking? Why did you go to Boston? Why did you burst in on Ms. Swan? I raised you better than that.”

He hung his head sheepishly. “I…I–I found out she’s my mom. My birth mom, I mean. Who gave me up for adoption.”

There was fraught silence on the other end of the line, and Killian could feel the questions circling.

Before the tension could build too much, Emma cut in. “It’s–it’s not an imposition, Regina. Er, Ms. Mills, if you prefer.”

“Did you tell him about this? Is this a secret you’ve kept? Is this why you came to work for me?! Because if this is some elaborate ploy–” Anger and pain crackled through the phone, and Killian winced.

“No, and I’d like to remind you that this is on speaker. I…I didn’t know until tonight. If I had, I never would have come to work with Mills & Booth.”

Henry’s face fell, hurt evident in his posture. Emma seemed to notice, and she cringed.

“Look, Regina, this wasn’t part of my plan for the evening. I have company, but I’ll…I’ll make sure Henry is fine for tonight. I’ll get him back to you tomorrow.”

Regina’s voice had regained its measured calm. “Yes, you will, and I would be more comfortable if your _company_  left. I don’t want my son to be around complete strangers who I’ve in no way vouched for. We clearly missed some things in your background check, but at least I know you’re not a wild child.”

Emma looked to him as if beseeching him, and he nodded. “It’s Killian. Killian Jones,” she replied, her voice clipped.

“Oh! Well, then,” she said, pausing as if considering. “I would still prefer…”

“Of course. I’ll, uh, send him home. Do you want me to drive Henry back, or…?”

“I–I suppose that works. Or I could pick him up. We could also get a flight…”

“Regina, it’s no trouble. If I put him on a plane…”

“He might just run again,” she sighed. “Very well. Would you like to meet in Portland? I’ll text you directions to a restaurant there, because I’d like to speak with you, too.”

“Of course.”

“Now, could I speak to Henry, please?”

“Oh, right. Sure. Here he is,” Emma said, passing the phone to Henry once she turned off the speaker function.

Henry took it, his expression mulish, a stubborn light in his eyes. “Hi. Yeah. No, it was my–Mom, I’ll be okay, and yeah, she’s fine. So is he. Okay. Me too. See you then.”

He hung up and then looked up at Emma. Killian could see the trepidation in the boy’s furrowed brow, and he felt a pang for this confused child. “Um, so, that went pretty well. Right?”

Emma snorted.

“I mean, she’s mad, but she didn’t yell at you too much?”

 _No, just implied a couple of things Emma didn’t want or need to hear_ , Killian thought unhappily. He knew he was defensive where she was concerned, so he tried to focus on Henry.

“I…I think it’ll be okay.”

“Are you mad at me?” The uncertainty in Henry’s voice broke his heart. It clearly tore at Emma too, and she sighed and slumped her shoulders.

“No, I’m not mad, exactly. I just…it’s a weird situation, okay? Feelings are running high.” Squaring her shoulders, she finally pulled away from Killian. He felt bereft.

“Oh.”

“Look, kid, it’s late. Let me say goodbye to Killian, and then we’ll get you off to bed. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

Henry finally gave in, nodding his acquiescence.

Emma motioned to Killian to head out into the hallway. He followed, melancholy setting in as he realized the night’s excitement–both good and bad–was at an end.

She shut the door behind them, slumping against it. She gave him a rueful smile and shook her head. “What a night, huh?”

“That’s definitely one way of putting it.” He reached up and scratched behind his ear, suddenly uncertain. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how he felt. More importantly, he wasn’t sure how she felt about everything that had transpired this evening.

Emma seemed to feel the same way, but she reached out to touch his arm. “I had fun. You know, with the date and all. I know there’s a lot…”

He grabbed her hand quickly, “It was! Fun, that is. And we certainly have a lot to talk about, but I want to do this again. Definitely.”

Emma gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I was afraid–I know it might be a shock, the whole me having had a kid and going to jail thing, and I just–”

“–and we can talk about it, when said child isn’t in your apartment for the first time ever. When you don’t have bigger fish to fry,” Killian said, pulling her close.

“Thanks. I want to tell you, I just…”

“I know. It’s…a lot. I have things too.”

Emma smiled, looking up and brushing a kiss across his lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’m back in Boston. We can figure something out then.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, he kissed her again. “Sounds excellent, Swan. Until then?”

“Yeah.”

He released her and headed down the stairs. As soon as he drew in a breath of the outside air, he sighed. He was going to cross his fingers and hoped this would all work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you read, hit me up!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Emma bond while she drives him back to Maine, but Regina and Emma get off to a rough start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc! It means so much to me. And please don't forget to take a look at some of the fabulous art @bleebug and @shady-swan-jones have made for the story over on tumblr.

Emma awoke with a start, the sound of a loud crash coming through her bedroom door. Taking a deep, heaving breath, she sighed and buried her head in her pillow, remembering Henry’s surprise appearance the previous night. She groaned and piled another pillow over her head, delaying the inevitable need to roll out of her cozy cocoon and figure out what he’d gotten into.

She dragged herself out of bed and pulled a sweater on over her pajamas only to hear the sound of something scraping along the floor. Clearly, it was time to investigate whatever Henry was up to in the kitchen.

When she stood in the doorway, he looked up at where she stood on the stairwell and met her eyes. He shuffled his feet and looked away quickly, standing over the remains of one of her mugs. It didn’t look like there had been anything in it, and nothing else appeared broken, so Emma sighed in relief and made her way down.

“I was trying to get a mug for some milk. Or maybe I could make hot chocolate?”

“Sure, kid.” She pushed herself from the doorway. “I’ll make the hot chocolate if you make sure you have your stuff ready. I think we’re meeting your mom for a late breakfast in Portland.”

Henry sighed but nodded. “I’ll go put my stuff in my bookbag.”

Emma attempted an awkward smile at him and grabbed a broom from the pantry. As soon as she cleaned up the mess on the floor, she turned to the drawers and pulled out the necessary items to make their hot chocolate. She echoed Henry’s sigh, reaching for two travel mugs. She really,  _really_  didn’t want to be up this early on a Saturday. Especially after the nice date she’d had with Killian.

_Killian_. God, that had been going so well. Until–well, until the interruption. She felt her stomach knot in guilt thinking about Henry as interruption, but honestly, she was still reeling. Between being completely unprepared for seeing the son she’d given up for adoption, her own ties to his mother, and being forced into a position of having to share some of her most painful experiences with a man she was only just starting to get to know…this was a mess.

_She_  was a mess.

Her stomach twisted further at the thought of what a day this would shape up to be.

&&&

A little over half an hour later, they were on the road. They had hot chocolate and bear claws, and Emma had managed to throw on a casual but pulled together outfit. After all, Regina wasn’t just the mother of her son, she was her boss, in a way. They had met only a few times before, briefly, at book parties and a gala or two.

Her impression had been that Regina was a smart and rather intimidating woman. They hadn’t hit it off, but they’d had no reason to not like each other either. After all, they were making each other boatloads of money.

Emma had known–in that distant sort of way one does with colleagues and coworkers–that Regina had a child. She didn’t remember hearing anything about a significant other, and Henry hadn’t mentioned anyone else either. So it was fairly likely Regina was a single parent. She probably knew all about Henry’s interests, had spent hours upon hours talking to him. He was probably her whole life.

And honestly? Emma had no idea what to say to the kid. Her son.  _God, this was awkward_. Tapping her fingers nervously against the steering wheel as they made their way out of Boston, she finally broke the stilted silence. “So, uh…what movies do you like?”

Henry gave her a knowing look, but decided to humor her. “I like a lot of things, but superhero and time travel movies are my favorite. You know, like Captain America and Back to the Future. Stuff like that.”

“Oh, fun. I like those too. Is Captain America your favorite?”

“I think so. But Spiderman is pretty cool too. I like fairy tales a lot, but more as books. I do a lot of reading.”

“Makes sense,” Emma replied, nodding. “Same sort of stuff in books? And what about the Disney fairy tales?”

“Mom doesn’t like some of them, so I haven’t read them all, but I have this cool book of fairy tales. And we read comics together, even though I’m not allowed to read the current Captain America ones. Mom says the guy in charge of those is a racist and a bad writer,” he said definitively.

“Well, I can’t argue with that. And I guess it makes sense you’d enjoy reading. How about Harry Potter?”

Henry gave her another one of those looks, the ones where she knew he saw way too much for an eleven-year-old. “You don’t have to interview me, you know. We can just talk like normal people.”

It was her turn to feel sheepish, but she acknowledged his point with a nod. “Sorry, kid. I’m kind of out of my depths here. I’ve never…”

“Talked to the long-lost son you gave up for adoption after he showed up on your doorstep?”

“Something like that.” She looked at him, stunned, and then her face relaxed as she answered him. The tension in the car dissipated and they sat in not-uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Emma finally broke the silence. “So…what made you choose now? Like, why start looking for me now?”

He shrugged and looked out the window.

Emma had always been good about telling when someone was lying to her, and her spidey-senses were  _screaming_  that something was bothering Henry. She took her eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a concerned look.

“What is it? You can tell me.”

Henry sighed and let his shoulders sag. “It’s, well, I’ve always wanted to find you, ever since I found out I was adopted. I wanted to ask you about why, and what happened, and all the usual stuff.”

Emma’s hands tightened around the wheel as some of the tension crept back in with Henry’s words. Unsure of how to answer him or how much she wanted to say, she tried to mask her own concern and worry by picking up her mug and taking a sip of her hot chocolate. She took a deep breath, realizing he hadn’t answered her question. Looking over at him, she raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered. “Everything is good, mostly. My mom is doing her best for me, but she’s really tense lately and has been kind of…snappish. And whenever I’m alone, I–I feel like someone’s watching me,” Henry said, rushing over his words and dropping his head, turning to face back out the window.

Emma bit her lip. He had obviously been holding this in for a while. Judging from the nervous glances he was giving her, he was clearly afraid she wouldn’t believe him, would think he was making it up. Or worse, was paranoid enough to believe it. And honestly, she wasn’t sure what to think.

“Hmm.”

“I’m not crazy, you know. I go see Dr. Hopper once every two weeks, but that’s because my mom is worried about me being lonely and dealing with being adopted.”

“Oh,” she said lamely, realizing she had no response to offer that would be enough. Or maybe she did. “Henry…I gave you up because I was seventeen and in jail. I had no way of knowing my life would work out at all, and I was a mess. I wanted to give you your best chance.”

“And…and you didn’t think that was with you?”

“Kid, I may look like I have my life together, but that’s only been in the last couple of years. I lived in an extra room behind a diner for a few years and spent time getting bruised chasing down people skipping out on their bail. It wouldn’t have anything like what Regina was able to give you. Comfort, comics, and healthy food? I wouldn’t have been able to do that, not for a long time.”

By now he was looking at her again, and the confusion and pain in his eyes were almost as bad as him not looking at her. “So you don’t regret it, then? Giving me up?”

Emma hesitated. “I thought about you nearly every day. But, Henry–you have a comfortable, happy home with a mother who obviously cares about you a lot. I can’t promise you that either of us would be as well off if I’d kept you,” she said, noting how his face had fallen. She continued, “But I can also tell you I’m not angry you found me, okay? I–it’s weird for me, sure, but seeing you, and how much you’ve grown into a smart, tenacious kid–it’s a good thing.”

As she choked up at the end of her speech, a hint of a smile began to pull at Henry’s mouth. He bit his lip and nodded at her. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She was still in turmoil, but she began to calm down as she blinked away those obnoxious tears that were trying to escape her eyes.

“Yeah. And I’ve never read or seen Harry Potter.”

“What?! Now  _that_  is something we need to fix.”

&&&

It was just after ten when they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant where Emma had arranged to meet Regina. After the earlier heaviness of their conversation, the rest of the ride had been passed in lighter discussion, mostly about things the other needed to watch or read, and who their favorite superheroes were. Emma hadn’t lied–Henry was a cool kid.

As she stepped out of the Bug, she straightened her shirt and tugged at the bottom of her red leather jacket. She so hoped this meeting wouldn’t be as fraught and awkward as she was afraid it would be.

She took a deep breath and asked, “Ready, Henry?”

Holding up his backpack, he nodded. “Yep. Oh, Mom’s here,” he said, pointing at the black Mercedes they passed as they walked towards the restaurant.

“Cool, great,” Emma replied, holding the door open for Henry. They craned their heads until they finally saw Regina. She met their eyes as soon as they found her at the table, obviously having watched them make their way in from her seat by the window.

She stood and made her way over. “Henry!” She did a surprisingly graceful little jog over and wrapped her arms around him while Emma stood by watching. Henry patted her back awkwardly and stepped away.

Regina finally turned to Emma. “Miss Swan.”

“Ms. Mills?” She hated the note of uncertainty in her voice, as she’d always been “Regina” before, but then, they’d never met in a context quite like this one.

“Shall we go to the table? I imagine we have a lot to discuss,” she said, standing up straighter and remaining expressionless.

Emma envied her her composure. “Sure.”

They all slid into their spots in the booth, Henry next to Regina and Emma across from them.

She took a deep breath. “First, I’m so sorry for any distress you might have had to deal with last night and this morning. I can’t imagine…”

“I’m sure you can’t,” Regina shot back, gesturing for the servers to bring over coffee. As they filled Emma’s mug and re-filled Regina’s, she turned to Henry. “Sweetie, what were you thinking? How did you get the money?”

Henry muttered in a barely audible voice, “I might have borrowed your credit card.”

Regina sniffed. “And lied to me, your teachers, and Mrs. Canfield.”

He dropped his head sheepishly. “That too.”

Emma met Regina’s gaze without flinching as she looked to her again. “And you? You didn’t know about any of this?”

“I didn’t,” Emma said, staring Regina down, anger bubbling at the unspoken accusation. “I agreed to a closed adoption eleven years ago and have held to the terms of that. I had no idea Henry was in the northeast, let alone that he’d show up at my doorstep in Boston. Or that he was your son,” she added.

Regina stared back, weighing her words. Then she nodded. “While you cavorted with your editor.”

Emma bristled. “We’re both adults, and there’s nothing in our contracts forbidding it.”

“Relax, Ms. Swan. While I’m not thrilled about Henry’s little escapade,” she said with a quelling glance at him that had Emma fighting down a giggle when he looked between the two of them. “At least he was with two people I’ve run background checks on.” She paused. “Though yours certainly was missing a few details.”

“The beauty of sealed court records,” she replied with a tight smile.

The server came back to take their orders, and Emma gave an internal sigh of relief at the reprieve. Yes, eggs benedict  _was_  just what she needed to make it through this breakfast.

Taking a deep drag of her coffee, she did her best to smile a real smile. “Henry was really polite and a great guest. You’ve clearly done a good job with him.”

Finally Regina’s tough veneer cracked and she softened almost imperceptibly. “Thank you.” With a fond glance at Henry, she continued, “he…he’s everything to me.”

He looked back up at her. “Mom, I promise Emma didn’t know. About any of it. I just always kind of wanted to know–”

“Why she gave you up?”

Emma gritted her teeth at the blunt question. “Which I answered.”

“Henry, would you mind giving Ms. Swan and me a moment?”

“Uh, nope. I’m just going to run over to the lobby and look at the flyers real quick.” His raised eyebrows and awkward expression as he fled would have made her laugh in any other setting.

Emma turned to face Regina as soon as Henry was out of sight. “Okay, what’s your deal? I handled the situation to the best of my ability. When your son, the son who I gave up over a decade ago–and who was given to you, as per legal agreement, showed up on my doorstep out of the blue, I told him to call you and did what I could to get him back to you.”

Regina eyed her suspiciously. “And I’m supposed to believe that you had no knowledge I was the one who adopted Henry? That you didn’t work to get published by my company to get closer to your son? What are the fucking odds?”

“I don’t know about the odds, but I had no idea. I’ve mostly worked with August, and he was the one who brought me on. I’ve met you a grand total of what, four times? I kind of knew you had a kid, but had no idea he was adopted or anything,” Emma spat out, her arms crossed tightly.

The servers interrupted the moment, bringing their food. They hurried away as quickly as they could, but the moment allowed both women to compose themselves.

“I–perhaps you’re right, Ms. Swan–Emma. I have a hard time believing in this kind of coincidence, but maybe–well, you strike me as an abysmal liar, so I think you’re telling the truth.”

She blinked in surprise that Regina seemed to believe her, but then continued. “And you didn’t know? I’d have thought with your resources…I don’t know, maybe you wanted to keep an eye on me?” It was blowing her mind to think that all of this, all these ties, was a coincidence.

Regina snorted. “No, I’d have kept you far, far away, if I could have. If I had known.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed over her chest.

“Look, I wasn’t lying, Henry is the most important person in my life. I enjoy my job, and I’m good at it, but I have no one other than him. When my husband passed away, I was all alone.  Until Henry came along. I…I love him, and I don’t want you to take him away.” Regina stared at her, her vulnerability clear in her eyes.

Emma loosened her hold on her arms, softening a little. “I can kind of understand that, but I didn’t even know anything about him until last night. I’m not going to try to take him away from you.” She stopped and looked down at her plate a moment before looking back at Regina again. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know him, though, but maybe we should eat first.”

Regina nodded, composing herself. “You’re right. An empty stomach is never a good thing. Henry,” she called, motioning him over.

Hopefully he hadn’t seen the, uh, tiff, Emma thought with an internal sigh.

Henry slid back into the booth and they all started in on their meals, silence overtaking the table as they dug in.  _Maybe the tension had been hunger, after all,_ she thought

When they were almost done, Regina finally broke the silence. “If Emma agrees, Henry, would you like to exchange phone numbers so you two can chat? Get to know each other?”

Henry looked up, his eyes gleaming. “Really? Yeah! I’d love that!”

Emma chuckled, and even Regina smiled a little as Henry slid his phone over to Emma.

“Okay, kid, here’s my number. And maybe I’ll be able to see you around, if your Mom agrees to it.”

Regina shrugged, gritting her teeth and glaring at Emma pointedly.  _Don’t push it_ , her eyes seemed to say.

Henry hugged Emma briefly when they said goodbye for the day and then went to Regina’s car. Regina paused before following him, turning back to where Emma stood at the diner entrance. “I may…I’m willing to let you and Henry talk, and if things go well, spend some time together. But I need to know more, to know that there’s nothing worse in those court-sealed records.”

She tensed, annoyed that Regina continued to assume the worst. “I’ll tell you what I need to for Henry, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop threatening me,” Emma said, walking toward the Bug briskly. This conversation was over.

&&&

The conversation may have been over, but the emotional exhaustion of the day had only started to take its toll. Emma had to stop at one of those shitty roadside Starbucks on her way back to Boston, and she considered stopping for a nap but she just wanted to get home. As soon as she got to her apartment, she shucked off her jacket and changed back into lounge clothes.

She needed to relax, she needed to think…and she needed to call Killian. Picking up her phone, she pulled up his number and waited for him to pick up.

“Swan? How’s it going?”

Emma let out the breath she was holding, smiling even though he couldn’t see her. “Hey. It’s been…a day. How are you?”

“Enjoying my Saturday, though saddened not to be spending it with you,” he said, and she blushed at his low, intimate tone.

“I wish I’d been able to do that instead of talking about…past stuff with my son and his mother.”

“That does sound tiring. Anything I can do to take your mind off of it?”

She could practically hear his grin through the phone. “As delightful as that sounds, I’m going to have to take a rain check on that today .I’m exhausted, and I want a nap. And then to get a little writing done,” she said.

“Ah, especially if we have a conversation of our own to have.”

“Yep. Listen, are you free Tuesday? Or maybe Wednesday?” She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of the upcoming conversation, but if they had any hope of exploring this…thing between them, she knew they had to. She just wished sharing thoughts and feelings came more easily to her.

“Aye, I can do Tuesday evening. Shall we do dinner again?”

Emma climbed into her bed. “Sure, as long as we keep it casual and do take-out. My place?”

Killian chuckled. “Deal, but make it my place and I’ll prepare something for us.”

“I can do that. See you around 7?”

“Indeed. Enjoy your rest, Emma.”

“Later, Killian,” she said, hanging up, a goofy smile on her face.

The momentary joy faded, though, when she thought back on her talk with Regina. She could tell Regina wasn’t lying to her about not knowing of their connection, but she didn’t trust her. Between Henry’s concerns and her busy life, she bore watching.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma comes clean to Killian about her past, and they bond during their second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, reblogging, etc! It means a lot to me. It wouldn't be possible without all the many people who've helped me, including the lovelies at the CSBB, not to mention Kris, Sophie, and Kayla.

Killian stared through the small window at the front of his oven, hoping the conversion to Fahrenheit hadn’t utterly destroyed his mother’s recipe for Lancashire hotpot. He stepped back and glanced out the window above the sink. Even through the dark, the grey of the clouds promised snow, and it was already colder than he’d like. So this would be perfect, provided it cooked properly.

In the meantime, this cooking adventure was distracting him from his nerves about the night’s plans with Emma. He knew they needed to talk–they truly did–but just the thought of seeing her filled his stomach with butterflies, in the best way. In a manly way, as he’d told Robin.

Aye,  _manly_  butterflies.

It had only been a few days since he had seen her, but he missed her. They had texted over the last few days, which had been pleasant–excellent, in fact–but it wasn’t the same as being in the same room as her, holding her in his arms or seeing the light in her eyes while she talked about the things she was passionate about.

He was just so…excited to see her again, to have dinner with her, to talk, to… snuggle. Or, perhaps more than snuggle. Either way, it would be good.

Obviously, they had a fairly heavy conversation ahead of them, but he was optimistic. In the days since their date, he hadn’t heard from August. Nothing. Not a word. And, frankly, Killian was relieved. He was in no rush to hear from his current boss and former conspirator. He had actually emailed him the other day with an update from the next chapter Emma was working on. It was the exact sort of thing he should be talking to August about. The exact thing a publisher needed to hear in the earlier stages of developing a novel, and not what he had asked Killian to do.

And what a chapter it was! The story was starting to unfold, and Killian was hooked. They had finally met the protagonists, a social worker and the child she was trying to help get out of the foster care system.

He couldn’t help but see the parallels to Emma’s own life, and to Henry. And he was thrilled. Not only was Emma clearly drawing from her own experiences, but she was painting them vividly. It left Killian feeling he knew her a little better for it and knew it would draw others into the story.

A knock at the door interrupted Killian’s musings, and he gave a sigh of relief. Not that he wasn’t enjoying contemplating Emma and her story, but maybe the butterflies could actually settle down now that she was here.

“Just a minute,” he called out, pulling the dish out of the oven. He straightened his vest over his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and went to the door.

He opened it to find Emma’s beautiful face, her small, crooked smile betraying how glad she was to see him too. She was carrying a bottle of wine and shifting her weight as she stood up on the tips of her toes, her nervous energy soothing him and putting him at ease even as his heart skipped a beat. At least he wasn’t alone in this.

“Good evening, Swan. You look delightful,” he said, brushing a quick kiss across her cheek and taking the wine from her.

Emma blushed, but eyed him hungrily. “You look good too.” Then, her eyes drifted away from him as she sniffed at the air. “Okay, that smells fantastic.”

He held the door open and motioned for her to come through. “Well, then come in and let’s get us fed.”

He watched her as she moved past him, her cream-colored sweater and figure-hugging pants making her look delectable. The style made her seem soft, approachable, while also unaccountably badass when coupled with her knee-high boots, and he couldn’t wait to continue what they had started on Friday.

Killian shook his head and idly thumbed at his mouth, hoping he hadn’t been drooling. He let his prosthetic hand drop to the small of her back, guiding her into his flat. “Would you like the tour, or would you like to eat first?”

She turned and offered him a smile. “Tell me what that delicious smell is, and then I want a tour. I know your tour of my place was interrupted, but I’m curious.”

He smirked at her as she peered over his shoulder back into the kitchen. “Then all in good time, love. Our dinner will be a Lancashire hotpot. My mother’s recipe.”

Emma softened. “That’s great–what’s in it?” Stepping back and turning to stand beside him, she kept her eyes on him.

“Traditionally, it’s made with lamb and local vegetables, but I used beef, as lamb… well, it takes a fair hand to cook, and I’ve only got the one. I also didn’t imagine slaving in the kitchen for hours would fall under the terms of ‘casual’ we agreed upon for tonight.”

“Well, regardless, I can’t wait to try it. Now show me your lair,” she said, grinning at him.

He raised an eyebrow and set the wine down on the counter. “Lair? Do you see me as the sort that would have lair?”

She waved his question aside airily. “Lair, berth, dwelling…whatever.”

“For starters, my 'lair’ has this kitchen, and a cozy living room,” Killian said, gesturing to the room in question.

Emma smiled, eyeing his well-worn and well-loved chair, the one he had brought across the ocean in spite of–no, because of–its odd appearance.

“At some point I’ll tell you about my chair, that is if you tell me about yours,” she said, turning away from the chair to face him.

“Deal.”

“Shall we continue?” she asked, starting down the short hallway.

“Aye, we shall. As you can see, this is the hallway, and the bathroom. And through here is my bedroom.”

She followed him into the room in question, running her eyes over the grey and navy striped coverlet, the sea chest in the corner, and the anchor and ship painting on the wall, the room’s feel neat and organized. Emma looked around almost wistfully. “It’s very… nautical. And grown-up.”

“What were you expecting? A single bed with posters from popular films?”  His gentle tone belied the biting words a little.

“No, I just… well, my place stays fairly orderly too, but that’s because I don’t keep much there. And I totally drop my clothes on the floor.”

Killian laughed. “Normally that might be the case here, but there’s this lovely writer who promised to come over for dinner, so I may have put things in order.”

She smirked at him. “Hmm, feeling hopeful, were you?”

“Always,” he said seriously, meeting her eyes.

She didn’t look away.

&&&

After they finished their meal, Killian poured them each another glass of the wine Emma had brought.

She smiled up at him and took a slow sip. “That was delicious. Your mom’s recipe totally holds up.”

“Doesn’t it? I’m glad it worked out over here, even with the adjustments to American ovens and measuring systems,” he said happily.

“Maybe sometime you’ll show me how to make it?”

He paused, seeing the hopeful look on her face. His heart beat faster, the idea of working side-by-side with Emma in his small kitchen–in either of their kitchens, really–the very opposite of vexing. “Certainly, if that’s something you wish to do.”

“I…I really do,” she said, reaching across the table and taking his prosthetic in her hand. He patted her hand with his and let her continue. “I…so, yeah, I really enjoy spending time with you. I also realized that I want to get to know my son, and it seems like a lot all at once.”

“I would hope you wouldn’t consider me a burden, love,” he said, trying to keep his features schooled, not wanting to place any sort of expectations on her even as he felt a twinge of disappointment.

She looked surprised for a moment, then rushed to reassure him. “No–Killian, not at all. But I think there are things you should know before we make any decisions.” Her brow was furrowed in concern.

“I’d be happy to listen to whatever you want to tell me.”

“I know you were upset that I hadn’t told you. I could tell the other night, and I–just, well–I don’t owe you my story just because you told me yours,” Emma said, her voice low and intense.

Ouch. He knew her words were harsh, but also fair. He considered his own before nodding, acknowledging his silent display of frustration from the other night. He lifted his hands at her in supplication. “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything, but know that I would like to get to know you, and your story. So when you are ready to share, know that I’m all ears.”

She smiled at him, accepting his unspoken apology. “I was sixteen. I’d been in the foster care system my entire life, and I’d just run away from my last home. The Dixons…well, Mr. Dixon was interested in me in ways he shouldn’t have been, and Mrs. Dixon didn’t believe me. So I ran.”

“Christ, Emma, that’s awful,” he said, reaching for her hand again.

She didn’t pull away, instead she threaded her fingers through his and took a deep breath before continuing. “I went to Portland. The one in Oregon, that is. It seemed as far away as I could get. And, well, I was a sixteen-year-old with no skills, so I stole. Usually just small stuff, but I won’t lie, I was stealing more and bigger things as time went on.”

Killian rubbed his thumb over her wrist and nodded at her, encouraging her to go on.

“So I saw a car. A yellow VW Bug…”

“The one you have now? You still have a car that you stole?!” His voice was incredulous but tinged with amusement, and his eyebrows skyrocketed up toward his hairline.

“I’ll get to that, Jones, but yes,” she said, the exasperation in her tone lightened by the smile she gave him. “ _Anyway_ , the car was old enough that I knew it wouldn’t have anything too fancy to deal with in terms of alarms or locking mechanisms. So I got in and got the car going.”

“Next time I need to hotwire a car, I know who to turn to,” he teased.

Emma smacked his hand in mock reproof. “Nope, you’d pick something new and shiny. It’d be awful, and we’d so get caught.”

“I’ll have you know that I was a very good thief as a twelve-year-old,” he said, smirking at her.

She shook her head in response before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Well, I got in the car, and then I got the shock of my life when some guy popped up from the backseat.”

“Ah,” he said, the pieces coming together for him, “Henry’s father?”

“Yeah. His name was Neal, and as it turned out  _he_  had just stolen the car.” A melancholy look crossed her face, but she pushed it away. “He was older and had that irresponsible, easygoing vibe that screamed bad boy. So, naturally, my sixteen-year-old self fell for him immediately.”

He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We decided to team up. There were a lot of cons that were easier with the two of us, and we made our way from Portland to Arizona. We were together by then, and I was crazy about him. He said he was crazy about me. We had even started talking about going straight together, doing the right thing somewhere with a nice view of the beach. We were thinking Florida,” she said, her lips turning downward with a wry twist at her youthful naivete. “We settled on Tallahassee, not realizing it doesn’t have access to the beach.”

“What went wrong, love?”

“Neal had some watches he’d lifted a while ago stored in a locker in Phoenix. We were going to grab them, sell them and use the money to start our new life. But when we got there we found a bunch of wanted posters with Neal’s face on them. So I volunteered to go get them.” She paused and he squeezed her hand. “We were going to meet up afterward and head out of town.”

Killian winced, imagining all the ways that could have backfired. He wondered which way it  _had_.

Emma didn’t let him stew in his curiosity for long. “I picked them up without a problem and went to meet Neal. Only he didn’t show, a cop did. Said they’d gotten an ‘anonymous tip’ someone would be making a grab and running with them.”

“Bloody hell, an ‘anonymous tip’? He–” Killian cut himself off, heat blooming in his cheeks as fury bubbled in his chest at the man who had so betrayed Emma. He was so appalled that he pulled back, disentangling their hands.

“Yeah. I think even the judge felt bad for me. My sentence wasn’t as heavy as it could have been, and they made sure I got resources so that I wouldn’t turn back to theft when I got out,” she said, fiddling with her napkin and not meeting his eyes.

He reached for her again and squeezed her hand, overwhelmed at what she had gone through.

She looked up at him, smiling sadly, a bitter twist to her mouth. “Two months into my year-long sentence I found out I was pregnant. I had just barely turned seventeen, I was in jail, and I–well, I couldn’t even fathom being a mother. Even if it meant I had to do the one thing I’d sworn I’d never do to my own child, I knew he deserved better.”

“And so did you,” he whispered, his heart breaking for her.

“Does that make me selfish? It’s just that what was best for him was also best for me, or so I thought at the time.”

“Of course not. Or rather, if it is…it’s the most understandable thing I can think of in your situation.” He lifted her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles, then furrowed his brow. “Did Henry say something?”

“He wondered about why I had given him up. I told him the truth, and that I don’t exactly regret it. But I also told him that I do want to know him.”

Killian smiled at her. “And hopefully he wants to know you. If not, he’s missing out.”

She blushed but returned his smile. “Thanks. We talked last night on the phone, and we had a good chat on the way to Portland. I think… I think it’s going to work out.”

He desperately wanted to pull her into his embrace. “Thank  _you_ , Emma, for telling me about your past.”

She looked at him, something shy and earnest in her gaze. “Thanks for listening. I don’t generally talk about this stuff with, well, anyone.”

“I’m honored to have your trust,” he said honestly, even as the guilt of his work with August knifing through him even as he smiled. It was an honor, even if it was one he didn’t deserve, but he would endeavor to be worthy of it.

She didn’t seem to notice anything was off, and Killian let out a silent breath of relief. She didn’t ever have to know about his past behavior, especially since it was no longer an issue. Killian leaned back in his chair, shifting his hand to lift hers, thumbing at the top of her knuckles as he did. “Well, love, would you like me to pour us another glass of wine? We could do that and watch something, if you’d like,” he said.

Emma slumped her shoulders in relief, clearly relieved to have the more serious portion of their conversation over with too. “That sounds great.”

They settled onto the couch, Emma sitting comfortably beside him, his arm draped over her shoulder, as they watched Parks and Recreation. He wasn’t entirely sold on the American comedy, but Emma assured him it would change his life. He was willing to give it a shot, especially with such a glowing recommendation, and if it meant it was something they’d have an excuse to continue to do together outside of the office.

Honestly, though, he stopped paying attention to the show about the same time Emma’s hand started caressing his thigh. He tightened his hold on her, the chamomile and sunshine scent of her hair bewitching his senses.

She turned to look up at him, and he wasted no time capturing her lips with his. His tongue traced along them, begging entry that she granted. Their embrace grew more passionate as she turned to face him, her legs straddling his. She pressed against him, her fingers cupping his jaw as his hands slipped under her sweater. He lightly traced nonsensical patterns up her back with his hand and his prosthetic, letting them slide against the softness of her skin and moaning against her mouth as he did.

Killian’s moan seemed to startle Emma, and she pulled back. He was gratified, though, to see she seemed to have trouble catching her breath. As she paused but didn’t pull back further, he pressed open-mouthed kisses down her throat to her collarbone.

She arched into him again and sighed before finally pulling away. “Hey, Killian–can we–can we stop for a moment?”

He closed his eyes but nodded, acquiescing. Lowering his hands and removing them from under her top, he looked up at her above him, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked like a goddess of sunshine, he thought, his brain still somewhat fogged, not receiving all the blood flow it normally would.

“Sorry, I just… well, a lot is going on right now, and I want to see where this goes. But I also want to slow down a little,” she said apologetically, her cheeks red–with either embarrassment or arousal. Possibly both.

He smiled, and pressed a chaste kiss to her nose. “You have nothing to apologize for, Emma. We can take this as slowly–or as fast–as you’d like. Whenever you like.”

“I just… well, you’re my editor.” She gave a small shrug and looked away a moment before returning to look directly down at him. “I want this to work, I really do. But if it doesn’t, we still have to work together.”

“I understand. Truly, lass,” he said, beseeching any god who might listen to  _please_ help it work out. He reached out and touched her chin, kissing her again, trying to keep it from becoming too desperate a thing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleo figures out what’s going on with Killian working for August and what August wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts to get intense, friends! (I'm excited.)
> 
> And thank you all so much for your responses to this fic. It means so much to me reading your comments or tags and seeing the kudos, likes, reblogs, etc. You're all awesome. ; ;

Cleo sighed, looking over the notes she’d been taking on her iPad one last time. Sitting at her desk in her office after hours was hardly her idea of fun, but she didn’t want to bring this kind of work home with her. She didn’t want her “research” to be on the work server, didn’t need anyone to know about her digging into this odd situation with Jones.

And, most especially, she didn’t want to be right.

She had called in a favor with an acquaintance who worked in network security. A few years ago, she’d shown Anton’s poems to another friend, who’d succeeded in helping him get a couple books of children’s poetry published. While it wasn’t terribly lucrative for Anton, he was still grateful. So he’d done her a solid and gone through the trouble of breaking into Mills & Booth’s network, gaining access to and looking through Killian’s, August’s, and Emma’s emails.

Emma’s had yielded nothing suspicious, just the usual workplace sort of things, even if her exchanges with Jones were trending toward the flirtatious lately. It might not have been exactly any of her business–it wasn’t against the rules, even if it was frowned upon–but she really hoped nothing too serious was going on. For Emma’s sake.

Fact of the matter was that Emma reminded Cleo of herself a decade and a half ago. She had a lot of promise, and there was so much she was capable of accomplishing. She wanted to warn her that getting involved with her editor could be trouble, and that Killian Jones in particular was trouble. Cleo wanted to protect her from any heartbreak that might ensue from their involvement.

Because Killian Jones was up to no good. Not so much as August Booth, but she still didn’t trust him.

Cleo grimaced, reading over one of the exchanges between the two men again. Shuddering at the implication that Booth had paved the way for Killian to get into the US more smoothly on the promise Killian get him information on Emma.

It wasn’t entirely clear why, and she was definitely missing a few things. Most of their correspondence seemed to take place by phone, even if they referenced said conversations in their email exchanges.

Then her contact from AT&T–from her days making ends meet by doing some marketing and copyediting for the communications giant–had come through. She’d just received the files from Lina, and she reminded herself to send the woman a gift basket later for risking her job the way she had.

Logs of all the conversations between August and Killian over the course of the past four months, beginning when Jones was still in London. Unfortunately, there were no transcripts available, except for a couple of voicemails they had left each other. It was still pretty damning stuff, given the frequency and duration of the calls combined with the bits she’d gleaned from the voicemails.

 _Jesus_. What a trainwreck.

As all the puzzle pieces came together, Cleo’s stomach tightened in anxiety. How did one go about confronting one’s boss for colluding with a fellow employee to spy on an author? And why? She still didn’t understand why August needed this information about Emma. Whatever his intentions for all the info Killian had given him–which wasn’t much, Cleo granted–he hadn’t confessed them to Jones, as far as she could tell.

She should tell Emma, but she needed more of the facts first.

&&&

This was  _not_  good.

Cleo really would have preferred to be home with Alex and Jamie, watching a movie or playing board games while her husband and kid made her laugh. Her entire life, everyone had told her that she was too serious, but her layers of reserve melted away when she was around her two favorite people.

Instead, she was in the office at some ungodly hour, listening in on August’s conversation with an unknown woman. It was illegal as hell, and she fidgeted nervously as she listened through her headphones. She now owed Lina at least three gift baskets for tapping the line for her, if not a small used car.

“My source dried up. I’m working on taking care of that loose end, but I need a little bit of time. And I’ll need to find a way to continue to get more information about Emma and to keep her busy and out of your hair,” August said.

The woman’s voice was deep, rich, but strained with frustration. “Never mind that. We’ve gotten enough from her script and from Jones that things should still work on my end. Especially since we learned she’s Henry’s birth mother. Just make sure you cover your tracks. No slip-ups, Booth.”

Cleo nearly jumped out of her chair when she heard that. Henry? Could it possibly be…? Her attention was soon pulled back to the conversation.

“When have I ever let you down?” August drawled.

The woman snorted. “Let’s not talk about any of your failures.”

“And what about what you promised me?”

“As soon as I have the parcel, I’ll set things in motion. We just have to make sure things go our way first.”

“Indeed, your majesty. Indeed.”

Cleo’s hands shook as she heard a click and then the sounds of the call being terminated.  _Holy shit_.

Henry wasn’t exactly a common name these days, especially for the younger set. In fact, she only knew of one Henry under the age of forty, and he… _double shit_. He was Henry Mills, Regina Mills’ adopted son. That would explain August’s involvement.

She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but it involved Booth, and it involved Emma. Jones had to have been the source that dried up, but he was still involved in this shit show. Emma still had to know, especially since she was apparently  _Henry Mills_ ’ birth mother.

The woman’s voice had sounded so familiar.

 _No_.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I can't wait to hear the whodunnit theories for who's behind it. :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma confronts growing suspicions that Regina is hurting Henry. Killian thinks she might wrong and overreacting. When she doesn't handle his reaction well, she runs into Cleo, who has more news to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloweek, have some pain!

“Henry? Are you okay?” Emma asked, worried at how quiet the phone had gone.

They had talked three or four times in the past couple of weeks, about every imaginable topic they could–school, their respective interests, tentative things they wanted to do if they had a chance to see each other again. Emma got the impression Regina wasn’t thrilled, but she was just happy to have the opportunity to chat with her son.

The silence continued a few more moments before Henry finally said, “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Nothing, really. I just feel…weird.”

Emma’s brow furrowed and she paused, trying to decide how to get him to tell her more. “What kind of weird? Are you sick?”

“Cool it, okay?” Emma could practically hear his eyeroll. “I feel fine like that. But you know how I told you when we first met that I feel like somebody’s watching me? I feel like that, but more now.”

She bit her lip. “Is there a reason you think that?” She didn’t want him to be right, but she also really didn’t want him to be wrong either. Being right would be awful, and scary, and she didn’t know what they could do, or how she could protect him.

But if he was wrong, she worried Henry would be upset with her, would think she didn’t believe in him and trust him. Worse, Henry might decide he couldn’t trust her and would push her away. She couldn’t abide that.

“It’s mostly a feeling, but a couple of times I’ve seen the same person waiting outside my school. He never picks up a kid, and he is always gone when I turn to look back,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

That was worrying, and he didn’t sound completely crazy. It bore looking into, even if there were plenty of explanations for the behavior he was describing.

“That makes sense,” Emma reassured him, “but is there a reason you think they’re watching you?”

“I mean, it makes sense, right? Between Mom’s job and you being famous? And sometimes I think I see them other places too.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t argue with that–she was well-known, even if she loved her privacy, and Regina was pretty damn well-off. Of course, it could be someone watching another kid–acrimonious custody battles were definitely a thing, she’d learned during her stint as a bail bondsperson. Not that it made this any better. “Hmm. Have you talked to Regina about this?”

Henry gave another long pause. “I did once. She told me I was probably imagining things.”

That was worrying.

“Yeah,” Henry said. She couldn’t tell much from his tone, but he seemed to be fishing for some kind of response from her.

If only she knew what that response should be.

“What does this person look like?”

“Well, I think it’s a man. They seem fairly tall, and they always wear a hat. They’re white? And not all that noticeable.”

“Hmm,” Emma muttered.

&&&

“Hey, can we talk?” Emma asked, stepping through the open door of Regina’s large, corner office, the nicest in the building, without waiting for an answer. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in plenty of natural light, which shone warmly on the ornate ash furniture. The room was decorated in whites, greys, and blacks with hints of red throughout, managing to make it look inviting and imposing at the same time. Emma was impressed all over again, even if it was her second time in the office.

Regina looked up from her computer, seemingly unperturbed at Emma’s unannounced intrusion. She was as poised as ever, clad in black and cobalt, not a single hair astray. “Do I have much of a choice? You’re here, and you’re talking, so…by all means, continue with this undoubtedly deeply important interruption.”

Emma clenched her fists, willing herself not to respond to her baiting. “I’m here to talk about something that should interest you. Or someone, rather. Henry.”

Taking her hands away from the keyboard and swiveling in her chair to face Emma directly, Regina leaned back in her chair. “Oh?”

“When I was on the phone with him last night, he mentioned something’s been bothering him. He feels like someone is watching him,” she said, settling into the uncomfortable visitor’s chair across the desk from Regina.

“A lot of people are watching him, Miss Swan. I’m in the running for mayor of the town, and I’m quite well-known. I’m a prominent member of the community, and Henry thus has a correspondingly large number of eyes on him.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Emma gritted her teeth.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma continued, “Then let me explain it. Henry feels like someone is watching him. In a hostile, spying-on-him, following-him-home-from-school kind of way.”

Regina’s lips tightened. “He brought this up to me a few weeks ago.”

“I know. He said you brushed him off, telling him you thought he was imagining things.”

Regina flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “And maybe that was a poor choice of words and a childish oversimplification on his part. Because he’s a child, Ms. Swan. He sometimes sees things that aren’t there, and children his age tend to think, on some level, that the world revolves around them. Something you might know if you had ever actually raised a child before.”

Her smug tone had Emma’s jaw clenching, her teeth grinding.  _Don’t punch your boss, don’t punch your boss_ , Emma silently repeated to herself. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Did I offend you in some way? I can’t think of any reason for you to be so hostile to me. We’ve made each other a ton of money, and I’m the person who gave birth to your son. I happen to think you’ve done a decent enough job raising him since he’s a pretty polite, interesting kid. I just thought you’d want to hear about the concerning thing Henry told me.”

Regina sat back in her chair, her shoulders relaxing as she thawed a little at the positive mention of Henry and her own hand in raising him. “I’m not offended. I have no reason to be offended.”

“So it doesn’t bother you at all that Henry sought me out?”

It was Regina’s turn to clench her jaw. “I’m not thrilled about the manner in which he did so. I would have wholly supported him looking for his birth mother–you–had we done so together, had he not done it behind my back.”

“Is there a reason he might have felt it necessary to do that, Ms. Mills?”

Regina narrowed her eyes at Emma’s change from her first name. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

Emma couldn’t resist the taunt, her pride still smarting from Regina’s earlier words. “Oh, I’m not implying anything. I’m saying that I think there’s a reason Henry didn’t tell you,” she said cockily, a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“Get out,” Regina said coldly. Her volume was controlled, but there was no mistaking the fury in her voice. She stayed in her chair, gripping the corner of her desk tightly. “Get out of my office right now.”

Emma stood leisurely, exiting the office without looking back.

&&&

“Jacob glanced back over his shoulder, hurrying through the alley. He prayed he could outpace the man following him, that maybe this time his foster parents and Raisa would believe him,” Killian read aloud from her draft on his screen. “But god, what if it was his foster mother? What if she were the one actually responsible for all of this chaos?”

He was sitting next to her on one of the stools at the kitchen island, pushing up the reading glasses that had fallen down his nose. They were working on her latest chapter and polishing off Chinese takeout while they did so. Emma’s heart clenched at the pleasant domesticity of it.

“I’ll never get over how weird it is to hear someone reading the words I wrote,” she said, taking a huge bite of her mapo tofu.

He smiled at her. “I can’t imagine that. Didn’t you read a good deal of it yourself at signings and readings with  _Bonds of the Past_?”

“Sure, but that was just me reading it? Hearing someone else? That’s incredibly strange.”

“It can’t be that odd, especially in my melodious, accented voice,” he said, winking at her.

Emma rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it Swan, admit it,” Killian teased, his emphasis on each of the “t” sounds getting her hotter than any elocution had the right to.

“I might,” she said, staring at the way his tongue waggled at the corner of his mouth.  _Seriously, it was unfair._

He took a long drink of his watered down old fashioned, the ice having long since melted. “Then I shouldn’t have to tell you that it’s probably mutual.”

Her face reddened, and she bit her lip. “Then it won’t be too forward of me to ask you to stay over tonight?”

The warmth in his eyes turned hotter, his eyes darkening. He cleared his throat and replied gruffly, “I’d be honored to.”

“Honored? What are you, three hundred?”

“What I am is a gentleman,” he said, waggling an eyebrow at her before he sighed and looked back at the document on his screen. “A gentleman who is probably going to regret saying this, but we should finish looking over this chapter.”

Emma grimaced but nodded. “Work first, play later? Fine, fine, be responsible like that.” She looked wistfully at the page count, realizing they were only halfway through the chapter.

She  _really_  wanted to take him to bed. They’d been dating for about a month and a half, and Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this hard up. She definitely hadn’t waited this long since she was a teenager, and she half-regretted suggesting they take it slow.

It had been going slowly, all right.  _Too_  slowly. Honestly, she was shocked she hadn’t jumped him when he’d come in the door earlier, looking adorably earnest and unbearably attractive in his black jeans and black and muted purple floral button-up.

Killian took off his glasses and scratched behind his ear. “I’m probably going to hate myself for this later, but you might not want to extend that invitation once I say this.”

“Oh god, editorial bullshit I’m not going to like.” Her face remained impassive and her voice light, but her shoulders tightened at his words.

“Unfortunately.”

She sighed. “Well, let’s hear it, then. Let’s get this over with.”

He hesitated. “I…I don’t think you’ve really established a good motive for the foster parents’ culpability with Jacob. Why would they do it when they’re already acting as his guardians? It just seems unlikely to me.”

 _Okay, that’s annoying_ , she thought, trying to bring back the calm she’d felt a couple minutes before. “You don’t think I’ve established how shady they are?”

“You’ve talked about them being shady, but haven’t given much evidence or textual support for it beyond it being a feeling Jacob has,” Killian said, sounding apologetic. He was clearly feeling the pain of the tentative balance of their professional and personal relationships, and she might have felt badly, if he weren’t completely wrong. “But they are guilty of it. Can’t you just wait and see how it plays out over the next couple of chapters?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m just trying to make your book as good as it can be. I do have faith in your ability to get the reader there, just…this is the process.”

Emma felt a rush of irritation surge through her. “It might be the process, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s obvious they’re shitty parents. I would think you of all people would understand the need to trust the protagonist. Just because he’s a kid doesn’t mean the adults around him shouldn’t believe him. Or that the reader won’t.”

He paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. “Are you sure this is about the chapter? I’m starting to think this might be about something else, something closer to home.”

At that, she deflated, her burgeoning rage dissipating. Averting her eyes, she twiddled her chopsticks. After a few moments, she finally nodded. “I–well, there might be some stuff going on with Henry.”

“What kind of stuff?” He reached out and took her hand, and her heart clenched.

“The kind of thing where he thinks someone is following him and has decent reasons to think so. But Regina doesn’t believe him, and she blew me off when I tried to bring it up with her.”

“Ah.”

Chancing a peek at Killian, she saw he was avoiding her gaze. “What does ‘ah’ mean?”

He bit his lip before answering. “Keeping in mind that I don’t know all the particulars and haven’t had a good deal of time to think about it…I can think of several reasons that might be. And don’t you think that–and this is me inferring from what I read from your chapter–that suspecting Regina of some kind of involvement in this is rather ludicrous? You might be overreacting.”

She saw red. “Ludicrous?! Overreacting?!”

He didn’t seem to notice, or at least acknowledge, her increased agitation. “Well, as I mentioned, why? Why would she do such a thing, Swan?”

“Oh, gee, maybe it could have something to do with my sudden appearance in Henry’s life. If he was really happy with her, do you think he would have sought me out?” Emma bit out, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit…self-serving, love? I can think of plenty of reasons Henry might have sought you out even if he was 100% thrilled with his relationship with Regina. After all, you seem happy now, but wouldn’t you like to at least  _know_ your parents?” Killian kept his tone even as he said this, but all it did was serve to further infuriate Emma.

“You were right, I don’t want to hear this. And I don’t want you to stay over tonight.”

He looked at her, brow furrowed in worry. “Do you…are we okay?”

For the second time that night, she slumped back in her chair. “I…I think we will be. I’m just really fucking furious right now and don’t want to look at you.”

“You want me to leave.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Killian put his glasses away and closed his laptop, placing it into his messenger bag. He stood slowly and went over to where she was still seated, leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Very well, Emma. You know where to find me.”

She sighed. “Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow?” Suddenly sounding unsure, she reached for his hand and squeezed it before pressing a kiss of her own to it.

“I’d love that,” he said, smiling sadly as he walked to the door.

But Emma didn’t respond. Lost in thought, she didn’t acknowledge his departure.

&&&

Emma slowly dragged herself out of bed the next morning. She hadn’t slept well and now had a crick in her neck, the product of having spent most of the night tossing and turning.

And she was embarrassed. She had, in fact, overreacted the previous night.  _Slightly_. As far as she was concerned, Killian was still mostly wrong, but he’d brought up the topic in as diplomatic and tactful way as he could. Like a reasonable adult in a grown-ass relationship…something she just wasn’t used to.  

Once she fortified herself with caffeine–coffee, she didn’t deserve hot chocolate–and made herself presentable, she would go to Killian, and they could talk it over. She’d heard a rumor once that that’s what adults did when they disagreed with someone they cared about, and she was willing to give it a shot.

She stepped into the bathroom and grimaced at the reflection in the mirror of her snarled, disheveled hair and blotchy face. (So she might have cried a little after Killian left, what of it?) Okay, so maybe she’d have to push back the timeframe for the day a little, the whole “making herself presentable” portion was going to take longer than she’d like.

Emma was going to need breakfast. And, she could admit to herself, moral support. She brushed her teeth and took a quick shower, throwing on a simple outfit that was comfortable, reassuring, and still cute. The flowing material of the tunic was soft, and the leggings tucked into the boots provided that edge of familiarity she needed for what was sure to be a trying day.

Eggs, bacon, and humble pie were on the menu.

&&&

She slid into her favorite booth, the smell of coffee, grease, and breakfast food in general making her feel at home and soothing her anxiety. Granny’s may not be fancy, but it was as unmistakably her as a place could get.

That sense of well-being deepened when a small whirlwind moved across the diner and into the seat across from her with astonishing speed. The expensive perfume she wore was at odds with the casual environment, and the heels too high and the outfit a tad too tailored, but Belle’s presence was always a welcome one in Emma’s book.

The artfully arranged curls framed a small, delicately beautiful face, and her blue eyes peered at Emma with concern.

God, she wasn’t going to cry just from Belle giving her that caring, motherly look. She  _wasn’t_.

“Ruby will be out in just a second. She had to check on some things with the dairy supplier,” Belle said, fiddling with the wedding ring that matched the one on Ruby’s hand. “But how are you?”

Despite her earlier admonition, Emma’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m fine.”

The only response she got was a doubtful glance and a raised eyebrow that challenged her to continue.

“Okay, maybe I’m not fine,” she admitted.

Ruby arrived then and silently poured three full mugs of coffee. “You’re obviously not fine, Emma. You’d never text me before ten in the morning if you were.”

Emma looked up at her blearily. “Point made,” she said, and Belle and Ruby exchanged a look.

“What can I get you, sweetie?” Ruby asked. “I could even do a grilled cheese if that’ll help.”

“No, but thank you. Maybe some waffles? And some advice and a hug?”

“We can do that.”

In a startlingly short period of time, she was polishing off her plate of waffles. Ruby sat next to her, arm draped over her shoulders, while Belle sat across from them, listening intently as Emma filled them in on the previous day’s happenings.

“It sounds like you have a lot on your plate. Metaphorically, that is,” Belle commiserated.

Emma sighed. “Yeah. I just…did I mess things up with Killian? Am I totally off base with the whole Henry and Regina situation?”

Ruby tightened her grip on her. “No, I don’t think so. From what you said, Killian seemed fine last night. Sad, but okay with you needing a little space. And with Regina and Henry…you need to follow your instincts. You’ve always had good ones. Remember that doctor I went out with a couple times? You totally called it with how weird he turned out to be.”

“Rubes, no one could have guessed that he would be into experimenting on dead bodies.”

Belle turned to her wife, intrigued. Ruby just shrugged. “Sure, but not even Granny tried to stop me from dating him.”

“That’s because every time she told you not to do something, you just…intensified the thing,” Emma said.

“Still, points to you. Just take what you can get, Emma.”

“I will. For starters, another hug?”

Both Ruby and Belle obliged, embracing her tightly and packing her a large takeaway bag full of a pie Ruby had made for the diner along with cookies Belle had made that morning.

Heart and arms fuller, she made her way home. Arriving at her apartment she was startled to see a familiar face outside her door–Cleo.

&&&

Emma stared at Cleo, confused. She had rarely–if ever–seen her outside of work or work-related events, and she was a little puzzled to find her outside of her apartment. For starters, how did she even know where she lived?

Belatedly and somewhat superfluously, she realized that Cleo had access to her HR files, which was probably how she learned her address. But that still didn’t answer why she was here.

Cleo met her eyes wordlessly, looking more torn and indecisive than Emma had ever seen her. Her hair wasn’t in its usual orderly, business-like ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing her usual carefully tailored leather or wool. She was wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her hair was wild and wavy, and she looked as exhausted as Emma felt.

Emma’s stomach clenched, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Finally, she spoke, stepping towards her front door. “Uh, hi, Cleo. What’s up…on a Saturday? Outside my apartment?”

Cleo grimaced. “We need to talk. Can we go inside?”

“Yikes, that phrase doesn’t usually lead to good things,” Emma said, motioning her inside and leading her to the couch. She sat at one end and Cleo at the other, neither looking at the other.

“I wish I could say this would be an exception, but I can’t imagine this conversation will be fun. Or easy.”

Emma tilted her head, considering. “Okay, well, would you like some coffee first? Or tea? I can get you a slice of pie, too.”

“That…sounds good.”

Emma carefully cut the pie while the coffee brewed, the gurgling of the percolator the only sound in the apartment. As soon as it was prepared, Emma brought out their mugs and pie and rejoined Cleo on the couch.

She cleared her throat, unsure of how to begin. “So…”

“August has been spying on you,” Cleo blurted out.

“What?” Whatever she’d been expecting, that hadn’t been it. She put down her mug, splashing some of the coffee on herself. She winced, but made no motion to get anything to clean it off her top.

“He’s been digging for information on you, colluding with at least one other person. For reasons I can’t entirely figure out.”

“The fuck? What? Spying on me? With another person? And uh, how do you know this?” She stared at Cleo, her mouth gaping open.

Cleo’s mouth twisted. “August has been giving all this information he’s gotten about you to a woman. I’m not entirely sure who. I’ve heard them on the phone, her voice sounds familiar, but…”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Emma sat there, stupefied. She didn’t get it. August had brought her into the publishing house, making it possible for her to not have an agent. He’d essentially acted as one for her, providing a mutually beneficial professional relationship that been good for both of them. She would have probably answered any relevant questions he might have.  _So what the hell was he asking?_

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t want to burst in on your Saturday, but I thought you needed to know. And I’m afraid that’s not the worst of it,” Cleo said, looking truly apologetic.

“What could be worse than that?”

“The person August was using to get a lot of that information, at least for a while, was Killian.”

_Fuck._

Emma wasn’t sure how to process the information Cleo had just given her. She had sat motionless while Cleo told her how she’d gotten the information and what had tipped her off that something might be wrong with the entire scenario. It had seemed pretty clear.

She just didn’t get  _why_.

“Jones seems to have been involved initially because August expedited his immigration to the US. He could have gotten it done otherwise, but he seemed to want to get out of England fast, and August somehow made that possible,” Cleo explained.

“How? I wouldn’t have thought August had much pull with any sort of governmental organization. He’s good at marketing and making connections, but Regina is the one at Mills & Booth with the ties to deep pockets and the power players.”

Cleo looked at her sympathetically, taking in the lost and confused expression on Emma’s face. “Well, I can postulate he’s made some connections that might help. And the money seems to have come from his silent–or rather, unseen–partner.”

Emma sighed. “Who might actually be Regina.”

“It could be, yes, but I don’t know for sure,” said Cleo.

“Jesus. Just…why? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just ask me stuff?”

“Would you have told him? You’re not the most forthcoming, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know whether August’s motive is personal or professional. All I know is that he asked Jones for as much information as he could get about you, from personal stuff to what you were working on with your novel.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Emma chewed on her thumbnail while she considered everything Cleo told her. “So Killian told him everything? Everything I’ve been telling him for the last few months?”

“I’m not sure,” Cleo replied carefully. “What I can tell you is that Killian seems to have stopped providing any information about a month or so ago. At that point, he functionally ceased communication with August beyond the usual professional progress updates you’d expect.” She hesitated before continuing. “I’m sorry. I know you two were getting closer.”

“We’ve been dating for the last month and a half, basically,” she said bluntly.

Cleo winced. “That…I don’t really know how to say much beyond 'I’m sorry’, but I can’t help but think you’d want more of an explanation from Killian than from me.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, pushing aside her growing pain and swelling rage, “I do want to confront Killian. But what about August? Do I ask him? Do I tell him? Hell, can I  _sue_ him?”

Averting her eyes, Cleo shook her head. “I’d wait until I knew more, if I were you. I have to say that I might not have acquired all of my information through the most straightforward or, uh, legal methods.”

Emma let out a startled laugh. “I never would have guessed, Cleo.”

She smiled sadly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I guess there’s a lot all of us don’t show each other,” Emma mused, a storm raging inside her as she finally realized how much Killian had hidden from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...thoughts?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma goes to Killian, and he has to deal with the fall-out of her discovering his subterfuge. That's not the only thing that goes pear-shaped in his life as things heat up at Mills & Booth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THINGS ARE HAPPENING, FRIENDS. So thank you so much to all of you who have been reading and commenting and waiting for things to get here, and to all of you who helped me get here.

Killian hadn’t precisely slept  _well_  the night before, but it hadn’t been the worst night’s sleep. He and Emma had argued, but he was willing to chalk it up to strong personalities and the adjustment period that tended to happen early in relationships.

He’d been restless all day as a result, and trying not to sit beside his phone and wait for a text or call from her. He was convinced, though, that she’d call as soon as he walked away from the infernal thing.

But morning had come and gone, as had the afternoon. It was early in the evening by the time he finally accepted he’d have to do something to feed his growling stomach, and that he and Emma likely wouldn’t be making up just yet.

Maybe she just needed a little more time to cool off.

Killian had always run hot and his anger turned to grudges, but it didn’t seem like Emma was the type to hold onto grievances. Especially, the petty part of him insisted, when he was right and that she was behaving a little irrationally and blowing things out of proportion. He shushed that small voice, looking in his cupboards for something he could throw together for dinner.

He found the necessary items for his favorite recipe of pasta primavera, knowing the act of preparing a meal would provide some solace and a much-needed distraction. He wanted to pour himself a generous snifter of rum, but he was still holding onto hope that Emma might call and they could put their disagreement behind them. Then there could be pasta, kisses, and maybe even shagging.

He had just pulled the pasta off the range and was grating Parmesan when a knock came at the door. His heart leapt when he saw Emma through the peephole. Killian opened the door, trying to temper the wide smile on his face.

“Swan, I’m so glad to see you. Come on i–”

She cut him off abruptly with a stinging slap to his cheek.

Well, that answered the question of whether she was willing to put their tiff behind them.

“Love, stop,” he said, grabbing her wrist and halting another strike. “What happened? I’m sorry we disagreed, but it’s hardly a reason to turn violent.”

He was flummoxed by this sudden turn from her coldness the night before. The ice had clearly melted off, leaving behind a molten rage that was clear in her eyes and the way she was very nearly shaking.

Emma twisted her wrist from his grasp, and he dropped his hold on her and stepped back. She walked inside and he took the opportunity to close the door, not wanting his neighbors to use their fight as the evening’s entertainment.

Standing a good five feet away from him, Emma finally broke her stony silence. “You were spying on me? What the hell, Killian? For August?  _What the actual fuck?_ ”

The color draining from Killian’s face and his stomach dropped to his feet. No, more like below his feet. If it were possible, his stomach felt as though it had dropped through the earth’s many layers and into hell.

He certainly wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I–wha–how did you find out?” he asked, realizing there was no reason to continue to lie, that it wouldn’t help him at all anymore. Not that it ever would have, he knew.

“That’s really what you want to know? How I found out?” She was glowing, nay, vibrating with rage. She was still achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful, with her eyes flashing and her expression fierce. He wanted to hold her, to pull her close and bring her comfort, but when he reached out to touch her shoulder, she pushed his hand away. Not with the force with which she’d slapped him earlier, but it certainly wasn’t gentle.

He sighed. “I suppose that’s not what matters now. I  _am_  sorry, though, I want you to know. I quit, I told August before our first date that I wouldn’t continue to spy on you.”

He watched as she stepped back and crossed her arms. “Just…why? Why would you do that? Betray my trust like that?” Her voice broke, and so did his heart with it.

“I…it was selfish, and wrong. I was trying to get away from a bad situation in London, and August offered me an out in exchange for my work and information on you. I didn’t ask why, and he never volunteered a reason.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and he fought away some of his own. She didn’t speak, so he continued. “I stopped early on. I–I didn’t count on  _you_ , Emma, when I agreed. You should know that. You swept through my life. You captivated me, mind, soul, and heart. I wouldn’t–I can’t begin to convey how sorry I am, but I also promise that I’d never hurt you or betray you again.”

“Too late,” she said, her voice rough, harsh. “I–I can’t trust you anymore. You lied to me, and that–that’s it for me.”

“What are you saying, love?” His voice was more frantic than he was proud of, and he cringed at the sound of it.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. We–we’re done, Killian.”

“Emma, please–” He pleaded with her and moved toward her, stopping just short of reaching for her.

“No. Don’t…just stop. We still have to work together, so I’ll be professional. But I don’t want you to talk to me about anything outside of work,” she said, her shoulders slumped. She sounded resigned, defeated.

And he felt utterly deflated.

Killian didn’t reply to her soft “goodbye” as she walked out of his flat, out of his life.

&&&

He sobered himself up enough to attend work that week, but he moved about in a fog for a full five days after Emma broke up with him. Each night, he drowned his sorrows in rum, trying to numb the pain that his cock-ups, and her resulting departure, had caused. He got one brief email from her with a couple notes about an upcoming chapter, but he couldn’t even bring himself to respond.

Finally, on Thursday, Robin called him. He sounded tentative as he asked, “Hey mate, your text sounded a bit off. Want to grab a pint?”

Killian didn’t remember texting Robin, but he quickly scrolled through his recent texts. He winced, seeing the numerous errors and misspellings. “Yeah, I could go for a pint. Rough week, you know.”

“Aye. Cornwall’s?”

“I can swing that.”

“There aren’t usually too many tourists on Thursdays, so we should be fine,” Robin said.

Killian managed a small smile and joked, “You don’t think we count?”

Robin laughed and Killian continued, “I’ll see you there at eight or so, if that gives you time to find a sitter for Roland.”

“It’s not an issue–I’ve a friend who looks after him while I work, and he was already planning on taking him for the night.”

“I’m not messing with plans or anything, am I?” asked Killian.

Robin laughed. “No, I originally had a date, but I cancelled. She made some comment about puppies that seemed rather…off. So, for the record, you’re a rather large project that came up at work.”

Later that evening as they slowly drank their pints of ale, Killian found himself amused in spite of his continued glumness. Robin was animatedly recounting the story of one of his arrests from last week and the hijinks that had ensued as he and his partner had tried to track him down. The evening was almost enough to make him forget the ache in his chest, the hole left by Emma.

Eventually, though, Robin grew serious. “Now, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but…are you all right?”

Killian stared down into the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it around. “Well enough, I suppose, for having just been chucked by the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

“This is your writer lass? The famous one?” he asked, sitting up and listening intently.

“Aye,” Killian said, nodding. “She’s the first woman since Milah who I really connected with, and I fucked it up.”

“Oh, how so?”

Killian hesitated a moment, realizing his friend was in fact law enforcement. Then he realized how much he needed to get it off his chest, how much he needed to tell someone. Somehow, over the last couple months, Emma had become so much more than a love interest–she’d become his closest friend, the person he chatted with about everything. And now he didn’t have that, couldn’t tell her about the weird ship in a bottle he saw or listen to her laugh about what one of the regulars at Granny’s Diner had done.

So he warned Robin that some of his behavior might not have been strictly legal. When he reassured him that as long as no one was being physically hurt it would stay between them, Killian told him the whole sordid tale, from the first time August contacted him to the alcohol-fueled stupor of the previous few days.

“Shit,” said Robin when Killian had finished. “That’s…”

“A disaster?”

“To put it mildly.”

Killian sighed.

As soon as he ordered them another pint (the final one, Robin insisted), he said, “Well, if you need a listening ear or any such rot, I’m here. D’you think there’s a chance Emma could give you another shot?”

“Doubtful, mate.”

&&&

On Monday morning he strolled into the office miraculously free of a hangover. Since his chat with Robin, he’d worked on cutting back on his drinking. Not eliminating it entirely, but he made a marked improvement over the previous week’s constant queasiness and malaise.

He settled into the chair behind his desk, intent on picking up on the work he’d slacked on last week. God, but he’d been a wreck. Today, he promised himself, he would accomplish things. Maybe even get to Emma’s chapter, if he could work up the nerve.

He had opened his email and was looking over some of the other projects that had crossed his desk when he heard a knock at the door. He yelled out, “Come on in!”

Killian was surprised to see Ariel, and a rather frantic-looking Ariel at that. Her eyes were wide as she stumbled into the room, arms flailing. He didn’t know the lass terribly well, but she seemed like the calm and cheerful sort. He had yet to see her looking harried, or entering his office. Today appeared to be the exception.

“Uh, Killian? I mean, Mr. Jones?”

“Killian is fine, Ariel,” he said, frowning at her obvious discomfort and worry. “What seems to be the problem?”

She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. “Well, I just got a letter from the, uh, Immigration Services  about your work visa. It says they found that a bunch of things are out of compliance and that, uh, you need to stop working for wages immediately, return what you’ve earned, and that they’ll be launching an investigation. And maybe deporting , you,” she finished with a squeak.

_Shit fucking damn._

This was…beyond bad. This was catastrophic. He had to admit, he hadn’t paid much attention to the particulars of his visa, had let August–

_August._

August had to be the one responsible for this. He had initially arranged the visa and Killian’s immigration, had sped it along with his contact. And he had been the one disappointed when Killian stopped providing him information about Emma.

Well, it clearly hadn’t taken him too long to undo the permissions he’d obtained for Killian. (God, had it even been on the up-and-up to begin with?)

He was reeling, nearly hyperventilating when he sucked in a long breath. Realizing he hadn’t actually replied to Ariel, he tried to find the words. Coming up blank, dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

He felt a light pat on his shoulder and glanced up to find Ariel attempting to provide him with the awkward solace she felt capable of. He also caught sight of a glass of water, which he downed in one gulp. “Thank you, Ariel.”

“Are…are you going to be okay?”

He shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know, do I? But I should leave today, shouldn’t I? I don’t want to endanger anything or cause problems for anyone.”

She twisted her hands together, clearly concerned. “Well, I’d talk to Cleo. She handles a lot of HR stuff and has some contacts of her own, so that might be the best route.”

“Erm, I’m not sure she’s all that fond of me,” he replied.

“I don’t think that will matter to her if she feels like you’re a worthy cause,” Ariel said, nodding and exiting his office.

Well, then.

&&&

Fuck, he was  _nervous_. He wasn’t sure what it was about Cleo, but something put him on the defensive and reminded him of the nuns at the Catholic school he’d attended as a wee lad, strict and disapproving of whatever she thought he was up to. (Truthfully, though, he hadn’t been all that mischievous as a boy, not unless it involved Liam or one of the other boys insulting someone in his family.)

But here he stood, next to Cleo’s open office door, hoping she wouldn’t notice him dithering about in the hallway deciding whether or not to go in.

“Mr. Jones? Why are you still standing outside? Come in here and close the door,” he heard in Cleo’s authoritative, strong voice.

Ah well, no such luck then. He followed her bidding, entering the room quickly and closing the door behind him before sitting in the chair across from her.

How different this was from their first interview–he couldn’t summon any of his trademark charm ( _smarm_ , an internal voice sounding suspiciously like Emma’s said) to hide behind. He didn’t have the promise of so much as a flirtation with Emma to look forward to. Instead, all he had was an official-looking document telling him to stop working and threatening him with deportation. He had to say, the trade-off was  _not_  ideal.

“Well?” she said, an eyebrow raised rather imperiously.

Wordlessly, he handed her the letter Ariel had given him. He watched an array of emotions dance across her face as she read it–surprise, shock, dismay, something that looked a little like guilt, and finally, determination.

“Shit, Jones,” she said.

He nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t sum it up better myself.”

“So…why bring this to me?” She tossed the letter onto her desk between them and crossed her arms as she stared at him expectantly.

“Ariel brought me this rather ghastly piece of communication and stopped me before I left. She said you’re occasionally good at handling tricky situations like this,” he said.

“You’re looking for a quick fix, then?”

He shook his head. “As lovely as that would be, I’d be happy with an explanation and maybe a couple of possibilities about what I can do now.”

Grudging respect was how he’d later describe the look on her face. She looked at him for nearly a full minute, seeming to weighing and considering him. He didn’t look away from her. Finally, her face cleared and she nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever she’d found in their stare-down. “Honestly,” she said, “I’m not entirely sure what has happened to bring this about, but do you mind telling me a little about your perception of the situation?”

Killian gave her his rundown of the previous months, from August contacting him to how quickly he’d gotten leave to come over to Boston. He briefly mentioned that they’d had a falling-out, and that while it was not exactly personal, it wasn’t entirely professional either.

Cleo listened impassively. “I know a lawyer who works in immigration, and she could probably help you get a stay on this, if that’s what you want. It’s not a permanent fix, but that’ll probably take a while. We should also talk to Regina, she will want to know what’s happened and there might be something she can do to help. In the meantime, where are you in your projects?”

He offered her a grateful smile, feeling the tension in his shoulders dissipate some. “Well, my largest project is obviously editing Emma’s new book. She’s made some excellent progress, but we may have also had a row. And a complete end to our…more personal communication, actually.”

That furtive, guilty look appeared again on Cleo’s face. “I might have heard something about that. I’ll see what we can do, if you all decide you want to continue to work together professionally. We could probably get you a tourist visa and make you a contractor…”

He nodded at her, willing to follow any of her suggestions. She might intimidate the hell out of him, but there  _was_  something trustworthy and knowledgeable about her. “Whatever you think will work. And Cleo?”

“Hmm?” She was lost in thought, typing notes out quickly.

He smiled, a tiny shred of hope blooming in his chest. “Thank you.”

&&&

He’d gone home at the end of his meeting with Cleo, called Robin, and started looking into his options for an attorney. Robin had been at work, but he’d offered his support, even if he couldn’t do much. “Don’t worry, mate, I won’t arrest you…and fine, I’ll see what I can do in terms of helping you out.”

It was a couple more days before he received a summons from Regina. She wanted to meet with him along with August and Cleo. Cleo had texted him after he received the calendar request, told him he really had no way of proving August’s involvement without making his life much more difficult, so they’d have to find another approach.

And he knew she had a point. So he went in for the meeting, on his guard and having absolutely zero clue about what to expect.

You could have knocked him over with a feather when he entered Regina’s office to find her at her desk, with Cleo and August sitting together with Emma. Regina waved him in and Killian joined them on the couch.

“Er, hello,” he said with a brief nod.

Regina rolled her eyes. “This isn’t Alcoholic’s Anonymous, Mr. Jones. Now that we’re all here, we can discuss how to proceed with this immigration dilemma you’ve found yourself in.”

A retort was hot on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, especially when he saw the smug look on August’s face and the cautionary one on Cleo’s. Emma looked blank, uninterested. Her presence both bolstered him up and was like a vise squeezing his heart. She was so close, but she’d never seemed farther away.

He simply nodded again. “Well, shall we begin, then?”

A business-like façade fell over Regina’s face again.  "Indeed. So, thanks to Cleo, it looks like we were able to get a stay of proceedings that would lead to your deportation while officials look over your documents and figure out if everything has been done properly,“ she said, nodding at Cleo.

Killian was extremely gratified to see the smirk fall off August’s face. Emma looked up, clearly surprised.

Cleo just gave one single nod. "Yep. There’s been a stay of that, and we got you a tourist visa. So, officially you’re just here visiting, and we were able to get that to start from the date of issuance, fortunately, instead of it being retroactive. So we have about six months to figure this out.”

“…but things  _do_  tend to move slowly when in comes to customs and immigration,” Regina interjected, “so I’d like to get started today.”

“First, I think we should really take a look at why Killian is here, and what he brings to the table,” August said. “It might be easier to help you find a job back in the UK and just go with an American editor, or at least someone whose papers are in order.”

“No!” Everyone turned, surprised to find Emma was the one to respond so vehemently.

Killian was honestly just surprised Emma had spoken at all, let alone in defense of him.

He tried very hard not to read into it.

Emma clenched her jaw and stared down everyone but him, her gaze lingering on August. “No. Killian isn’t replaceable. He’s been a great editor, and his help and input have been invaluable. Changing editors at this juncture would have a very negative effect on the quality of my book, which I think we can all agree would be a bad thing.”

“Are you sure you’re not allowing your personal attachments to cloud your judgment, Miss Swan?” asked Regina.

“I am,” she said levelly, “given that we’ve ended our personal association.”

Surprise shone in Regina’s eyes, and then respect. “Very well. So we can all agree that Mr. Jones is important for this novel–”

“–but we need to figure out whether his work on other projects is up to par. Otherwise, why bother with anything other than telecommuting?”

Killian could swear he saw every woman in the room roll their eyes.

“ _Thank you_  for your interruption, Mr. Booth, and we’ll take your input into account. I  _am_  rather curious as to why you suddenly seem so keen on shipping Mr. Jones back to London, when you’re the one who advocated for bringing him on,” said Regina with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow.

August had the decency to looked a little embarrassed, but he recovered quickly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for Mills & Booth, and that includes maintaining a team that can work smoothly together. Is that really happening?”

“Yes,” Emma said fiercely, lying through the skin of her teeth.

Killian shot her a grateful look, which she acknowledged with a slight dip of her head. “Now that we’ve all established that we’re professional adults, can we get on with some of the practicalities of the issue?” he asked.

Cleo snorted. “Agreed,” she said.

Regina’s mouth twisted into a smile. “That does seem to be the most efficient use of our time.”

If August was bothered by this turn of events, he didn’t show it. In fact, he looked beyond pleased, especially when the door to Regina’s office burst open.

Even Regina looked shocked to see Cora Mills striding through the door, Ariel trailing behind her muttering her objections to the intrusion.

Cora Mills. She was a legend within the publishing world, having married the heir of a small publishing house and turning it into the juggernaut that was Royal Hearts publishing. It was primarily known for romance novels, but its forays into literary fiction were well-respected. She couldn’t seem to step a foot wrong when it came to books, and most authors would kill for a chance to meet her.

She was also Regina’s mother.

Killian wasn’t entirely sure when the schism between the Mills women had happened, but it was common knowledge within the publishing world that they didn’t get along. Regina had started her own competing publishing house, after all.

There was a long, tense silence before Cora finally spoke. “Hello, Regina. Your office is lovely, even if this is quite the collection of…professionals in it. Between the one in trouble with Immigration, the glorified beat cop, and the felon, I’m actually impressed Mills & Booth hasn’t imploded already.”

Emma moved quickly, but Killian was able to stop her before she took a swing at Cora Mills.

“I’d expect nothing less from an orphan of unknown parentage with a rap sheet,” Cora sneered, brushing at her clothes where Emma had come close to grazing her.

At that point, Cleo had to hold back both him and Emma.

Regina stood and made her way over to the center of the room, her face grim and mouth in a line. “Mother, what do you want? Or did you just come here to insult me and mine?”

“No, I came here with a proposition.”

“Ah,” Regina said, giving nothing away.

“Regina–and August–you both know very well I have plenty of contacts that could help fix Mr. Jones’ little tiff with the authorities. And I’d gladly help promote Miss Swan’s novel, if that’s something you think is a worthy cause,” she said.

Regina’s mouth tightened. “But what do get out of it? I’ve never known you to do a damn thing for free.”

Cora’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t want anything but time with you, Regina. I’ve loathed being so cut off from my only child.”

She snorted. “How sentimental of you, and it might be more believable if I hadn’t just seen a plan Mr. Booth drew up granting you shares in Mills & Booth.”

There was an audible gasp that came from either Emma or himself, he wasn’t sure.

Cora’s face twisted briefly before melting into a look of motherly concern. “That’s just because I know how much an investment could help, and I’d get to see so much more of you.”

Uncertainty crossed her face, but Regina crossed her arms. “Get out,” she said. “And if you would kindly refrain from insulting my colleagues or bullying my assistant while you’re on your way out, I’d appreciate it.”

Cora schooled her features and nodded imperiously. “Very well. But just know your mother is here for you whenever you need me,” she said.

She swept out, and silence reigned.

Finally, Regina cleared her throat. “Well, if that’s done, can we just agree that we’ll work on figuring out Mr. Jones’ visa situation, while hiring him as a contractor to work exclusively on Miss Swan’s project for now?”

Cleo, Emma, and Killian all nodded, none of them missing the distrustful glare Regina directed at August.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma grapples with Killian's betrayal. She gets a lot of writing done, and she and Henry talk on the phone every day, but something is missing. They're on their way to reforging their broken relationship when the unthinkable happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, folks, things _really_ happen here! Hold onto your hats/bonnets, etc.
> 
> We pick up a few days before, when Emma learned what happened with Killian and August...

_Emma_

Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so livid. She was furious, so angry she was red and almost crackling with it.

Cleo held her back, tried to keep her from rushing right over to Killian’s and punching him in the face. And then going to August and punching him twice. “Emma, think about it. Be smart, and don’t let your anger get the best of you.”

“Oh, they’ll get the best of me. The best of my right hook,” she growled, settling back into her couch.

Cleo snorted but shook her head. “Do you have any alcohol in here?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Let me get us some,” she said, reaching for the whiskey and pouring generous portions for the two of them.

“After this…do you want me to give you a lift anywhere? Or do you want to talk about it?”

Grimacing, she shook her head. “No offense, Cleo, but the last thing I want to do is talk about my feelings right now.”

“Understood.”

&&&

Cleo left after an hour or so, during which time they polished off their drinks in near-silence, broken only infrequently when Emma had a question or Cleo remembered something pertinent.

Mindful of the alcohol she had consumed, Emma called a cab over to Killian’s. She was still in a rage, still shaking, but she  _needed_  to talk, to yell, to see if he had any defense at all.

She pounded at the door. When Killian opened it with a smile and the tantalizing scent of pasta reached her nose, her resolve weakened for a second. Until he opened his mouth like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t been lying to her for at least two months–

Her vision went red, and she slapped him. She felt a pang of guilt at that, but wrapped her anger around her like armor.

Killian implored her to stop, asking her what had happened, and the concern on his face made her even angrier. How  _dare_  he get to act like he hadn’t done anything, like she was being irrational…

She stepped out of range of his grasp, not wanting his touch to weaken her, to tempt her to put this behind them. Emma waited until he closed the door before gritting out, “You were spying on me? What the hell, Killian? For August?  _What the actual fuck?_ ”

She watched the color drain from his face, watched the guilt fall onto his shoulders and weigh him down. Mixed with the satisfaction of being right was the sharp sting of betrayal, the hurt of her trust in him being broken .

“I–wha–how did you find out?” Killian asked.

That now all-too-familiar rage settled about her again. “ _That’s_  really what you want to know? How I found out?”

Killian reached for her again, and she pushed his hand away. Not forcefully, but she was still far too angry for the comfort of his arms.

He sighed.  "I suppose that’s not what matters now. I  _am_  sorry, though, I want you to know. I quit, I told August before our first date that I wouldn’t continue to spy on you.“

"Just…why? Why would you do that? Betray my trust like that?” Her voice broke, and this time her anger was for herself, for showing that he’d gotten under her skin.

“I…it was selfish, and wrong. I was trying to get away from a bad situation in London, and August offered me an out in exchange for my work and information on you. I didn’t ask why, and he never volunteered a reason.”

To her shame, she felt tears welling up, and she pushed them away as he continued to speak. “I stopped early on. I–I didn’t count on you, Emma. You should know that. You swept through my life. You captivated me, mind, soul, and heart. I wouldn’t–I can’t begin to convey how sorry I am, but I also promise that I’d never hurt you or betray you again.”

She drew in a deep breath, his declaration overwhelming her. It was like a punch to the gut, and she knew what she had to do. She could feel her heart breaking. She hadn’t meant to get so attached so quickly, but–well, she didn’t have a choice about it now, not if she wanted to remain true to herself, to do what was best for her. “Too late,” she said. “I–I can’t trust you anymore. You lied to me, and that–that’s it for me.”

He pleaded with her, and she tried to pull herself together as she assured Killian they’d still be able to work together as professionals.

As soon as she was done talking, Emma felt exhaustion creep over her, leaving her more emotionally drained than she’d been in years. She felt like someone had put her through the pasta machine sitting on Killian’s counter, and she needed to leave. Now.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, trying not to think about the devastated look on his face, or that she was leaving half her heart there with him.

&&&

The next week passed in a sort of fog, nestled between generous servings of ice cream and deliveries from Granny’s. (“No, this isn’t a thing we do for most customers,” said Ruby, “but you’re family so you get the onion rings with less effort and only a little colder than they’d be in the diner.”)

Emma missed Killian more than she could have possibly imagined. She had been falling for him, that much was obvious. But beyond that, she hadn’t realized how much of a  _friend_ he’d become. Somehow, he’d become the person she texted with weird things from her day or the bizarre writing thoughts she had. And she missed Killian texting her encouragement or pictures of cute animals. Or his thoughts about prominent literary figures and what kind of pajamas they probably wore.

At least she had Henry. Regina seemed to have found out that  _something_  had happened between her and Killian, and seemed more tolerant of the increasing frequency of calls between her and Henry. Finally, she even relented and consented to Henry spending a weekend with Emma.

She embraced the joy of having something positive to plan. There was relief too, that his visit in two weeks would keep her from moping. It wasn’t a distraction, per se–how could her son ever be a  _distraction_ –but it kept her busy.

Emma was keen to introduce Henry to all her favorite Boston haunts, all the ones he’d be allowed into, that is. Until one day when she was talking about yet another thing she wanted to do, just one more museum she wanted to pack into his visit–

“Emma–Mom–you know I’ll be just as happy if we don’t do anything, right? Like, we can just watch movies and read comics and hang out. There’ll be other weekends,” Henry told her.

She let out a sigh of relief even as she felt a pang of disappointment. “Okay, kid. We can do that. Is Mario Kart still a thing, or…?”

He laughed, but they agreed, and she smiled, thinking about all that the weekend would bring.

Cleo was a big help, too. She invited Emma over for dinner with her husband and daughter, and she gratefully accepted, even if she did worry that it would be a little awkward.

It wasn’t until she got an official email from Mills & Booth talking about the possibility of Killian being sent back to the UK–deported, and the necessity of having a meeting about the situation, that she really started to grapple with the new reality of her life and how awkward it could be. She had actually gotten some writing done during the week, and had sent it to Killian. Her tone had been professional, and she’d done her best to keep any sort of emotions out of the two emails she sent him. But it was her dinner at the Foxes’ that brought things into focus. The meal had been pleasant enough, but it was obvious to all of them that Cleo had a lot on her mind.

Finally, during dessert, Cleo blurted out, “It’s Killian. Apparently he’s being deported. Immigration seems to have suddenly and ‘randomly’ found some mistakes in his paperwork.”

Emma paled, her stomach dropping out from under her.

Just… _no_.

She might not be able to handle having Killian in her life romantically anymore, but the idea of him being gone, across the ocean? Forever? It was unthinkable.

She was barely aware of responding, but judging by the concern on Cleo’s and Alex’s faces, she had managed to say something. Then, bless her, Cleo told her that she was dragging her along to the meeting they were going to have about it at Mills & Booth.

&&&

She was distracted when he came into the room, too wrapped up in worry that Killian might leave permanently to actually notice him coming into the room. It wasn’t until he joined them on the couch that Emma started in surprise, but quickly schooled her features into something more neutral. She held her breath, waiting to see how the meeting, and Killian’s future here, might unfold.

Killian greeted the room awkwardly, and Regina was all business as they began. Cleo looked wary, and August had that punchable, smug look on his face. Though that faded as soon as Regina mentioned that a stay had been granted on Killian’s deportation.

Emma let out a sigh of relief and looked up, surprised. She hadn’t had a clue that Regina or Cleo were on top of this, at least not beyond knowing about it. She zoned out, only coming back when she heard August speaking. “First, I think we should really take a look at why Killian is here, and what he brings to the table. It might be easier to help you find a job back in the UK and just go with an American editor, or at least someone whose papers are in order.”

“No!” Emma exclaimed, and everyone turned to look at her, with varying degrees of surprise on their faces

Killian’s face was a study in gratitude, and she had to look away. Instead, she stared August down. “No. Killian isn’t replaceable. He’s been a great editor, and his help and input have been invaluable. Changing editors at this juncture would have a very negative effect on the quality of my book, which I think we can all agree would be a bad thing.”

“Are you sure you’re not allowing your personal attachments to cloud your judgment, Miss Swan?” Regina asked.

“I am,” she said, managing to keep her voice even as her heart twisted, “given that we’ve ended our personal association.”

It was only then that she realized that maybe Regina hadn’t known before, if her raised eyebrow was any indication, but she seemed to like Emma more for defending Killian given their situation. Her expression warmed, sympathy glinting in her eyes. “Very well. So we can all agree that Mr. Jones is important for this novel–”

“–but we need to figure out whether his work on other projects is up to par. Otherwise, why bother with anything other than telecommuting?” August intejected.

Emma rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

She clearly wasn’t the only one annoyed, since Regina’s scathing reply had him blushing. He recovered quickly, though. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for Mills & Booth, and that includes maintaining a team that can work smoothly together. Is that really happening?”

“Yes,” Emma said fiercely. It might not be entirely accurate at the moment, but she and Killian would get there. Hopefully.

But August didn’t look quelled, even through the subsequent exchanges. The reason for that became abundantly clear when the door burst open and Cora Mills strode in, poor Ariel trailing behind and desperately trying to stop her.

Cora Mills–Regina’s mother and the founder of Royal Hearts Publishing–was here. Regina didn’t look thrilled, but then, the feud between them–apparently related to Regina’s less-than-advantageous marriage–was well known in their circles. No one did, except perhaps for August.

The silence in the room stretched on before Cora finally broke it. “Hello, Regina. Your office is lovely, even if this is quite the collection of…professionals in it. Between the one in trouble with Immigration, the glorified beat cop, and the felon, I’m actually impressed Mills & Booth hasn’t imploded already.”

Emma felt her cheeks heat and rage pulse through her veins at the dig on her and the people she cared for. She leapt up from the couch, ready to fucking tackle Cora. Killian held her back, and Cora smirked. “I’d expect nothing less from an orphan of unknown parentage with a rap sheet.”

When Killian let her go so they could both fight her, Cleo was the only thing holding them back.

Then Regina spoke from where she’d made her way to the center of the room to stand in front of Cora. "Mother, what do you want? Or did you just come here to insult me and mine?”

“No, I came here with a proposition. Regina–and August, you both know very well I have plenty of contacts that could help fix Mr. Jones’ little tiff with the authorities. And I’d gladly help promote Miss Swan’s nove, if that’s something you think is a worth cause,” she said.

“But what do get out of it? I’ve never known you to do a damn thing for free,” Regina said, looking more peeved than intrigued.

Cora replied, “I don’t want anything but time with you, Regina. I’ve loathed being so cut off from my only child.”

“How sentimental of you, and it might be more believable if I hadn’t just seen a plan Mr. Booth drew up granting you shares in Mills & Booth.”

Emma gasped and so did Killian, both of them shocked by this revelation.

Cora briefly tried to defend herself, but Regina told her to leave, clearly unconvinced by her mother’s motives. “Get out,” she said. “And if you would kindly refrain from insulting my colleagues or bullying my assistant while you’re on your way out, I’d appreciate it.”

As soon as she left, they were quiet for a moment until Regina affirmed their commitment to getting Killian out of his immigration situation. They all nodded, except for August, who wasn’t meeting the glare Regina directed at him with one of his own.

They all left the room, one by one, not speaking to each other. Emma was aghast, floored at the entire meeting, but especially at the revelation that August was causing even more trouble than she’d realized.

&&&

Muttering to herself, she read from her screen. “Jacob looked from one side to the other, frantically trying to clear his head. But if his foster mother wasn’t responsible for taking him away… who was?”

Emma looked up from her laptop and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. She reached for the coffee mug sitting on the side table as she pondered her next move. She had realized, much to her chagrin, that her original plan for the antagonist wasn’t as well-developed as she would have liked. It  _couldn’t_  be the foster mother–after developing the character, she just knew it wouldn’t work.

The leather of her chair creaked as she shifted, brow furrowed in thought. She had to think of something, but she was just so… stuck. Writer’s block was the worst.

She was interrupted from her “research,” which totally wasn’t going to be her perusing the Crate & Barrel website for hours, by a knock on her door. Puzzled by who it could be, she went to answer it. Through the peephole, she saw a deliveryman standing there with a bouquet.

“Emma Swan?” he asked as she opened the door.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, gobsmacked by the arrangement of lilies and peonies that he hurriedly deposited in her arms before scurrying away. “Thanks, I guess?”

She took it inside and pried open the accompanying note.

_Dearest Emma,_

_I cannot thank you enough for your supportive words during that hellish meeting. I know you’re not particularly fond of me at present, and I don’t blame you for that, but words cannot express how grateful I am that you stood up for me and my job._

_I don’t know what August’s game or plan is, or how you want to handle it, but I’d like you to know that from here on out I am 100% on board with whatever you would like to do. If you decide you don’t want to act, that’s fine. If you decide you want to look into August’s behaviour and reasons for spying on you, you need only ask and I’ll assist you._

_I owe you, and not just for sticking your neck out for my job and our partnership. I owe you for being the kind of woman who inspired me to step away from people like August, for being the kind of woman to remind me of what there is to live for. And whatever else I might be, I like to think I am at least a man of my word._

_This isn’t to make you uncomfortable, and if it does so, feel free to chuck this letter and the flowers. I made sure I had them sent to your home, since I wouldn’t want there to be another floral mix-up like the one I heard about with Ariel a few years ago._

_Thank you again, Emma._

_Yours,_

_Killian Jones_

Emma stared down at the letter, her eyes burning with unshed tears. One fell onto the page, blurring his signature. He had clearly written the note himself, and she was full of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, she wasn’t afraid to admit it–she was still more than a little angry. But that anger was fading a little more each day as she realized the ways Killian had been manipulated into his actions. He still should have told her, but it was getting harder to hold onto her anger.

She wiped at the tear that had tracked down her face, once again noting how much she  _missed_  him. His silliness, his easy affection, the flowery speech…life was a little bit dimmer without all of it. She snorted as she read the last paragraph, the reference to her fiery reaction to Ariel’s bouquet, one that she’d thought was hers, amusing her. Of course someone had told him about that.

Honestly, Emma wasn’t sure she was quite ready to bring him back into her life. At least, not fully. She had a lot of other things going on, between the book, Henry, and now the August situation. But she could reply to him, lessen the tension between them.

She could at the very least do better than ignoring his gift and his note. Walking over to her sink, she reached in the cupboard for the vase she knew was up there gathering dust. She filled it with water and placed the bouquet on her kitchen table, smiling as she opened her email client to reply to him.

_Hey, Killian–_

_Thank you so much for the flowers, they’re lovely. Peonies have always been a favorite of mine._

_I’m not sure yet what I want to do about the August situation.Thanks for offering your help with whatever I decide._

_I’ll be honest, I’m not ready to let bygones be bygones yet. Though I do miss talking to you and having you around. But I… well, I’m still not ready. Maybe I will be soon, though. Just give me some more time to work through stuff._

_I do have some questions about my story. I think I’m kind of stuck, and I’m wondering how to proceed. I think I might have gotten onto the wrong track with my original antagonist, and I don’t know how to resolve it. Do you have any thoughts? (I’ll send you what I have, don’t worry.)_

_Thanks again for the flowers._

_Emma_

She thought about the rather abrupt ending to her note, but grimaced and hit send before she had a chance to overthink it. Drawing in a deep breath, she got up, more at ease and ready to work on completing Jacob’s story.

&&&

“Whoa, kid, slow down,” Emma said, laughing as Henry dragged her out of The Garden, chattering a mile a minute. It was Saturday, and he’d been with her for a little over a day at this point, and it had been one of the greatest days in her recent memory.

“But it was so cool! That final goal…” Henry said excitedly, jumping up and down as they made their way to the Bug.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, an affection stronger than anything she’d ever known rising in her as she pulled him close.

He grinned up at her. “So, grilled cheese? At that place where your friend Ruby works?”

“You’ve got it. And it’s going to be the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had.”

“Will there be hot cocoa?” Henry looked up expectantly.

Emma smiled back down at him. “Of course! Where do you think I first had it?”

They pulled up to the diner and slid into Emma’s favorite booth. Belle nodded across the counter in greeting. “The usual, Emma?”

“Yep! And an extra for Henry here.”

They unbundled, taking off their scarves and coats as they settled in. Ruby bounded out, her enthusiasm apparent in her every step.

“Hey! I’ve heard so much about you, Henry. I’m Ruby, one of Emma’s oldest friends,” she said.

“Indeed she is.” Emma laughed. “And that lovely lady bringing us cocoa is Ruby’s wife, Belle.”

“Everything smells so good,” he said. Wonder lit his face, and his eyes were wide as he took in his surroundings.

She smiled at him. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

They chatted while they ate their food, Ruby and Belle joining them as they could. Henry agreed that the grilled cheese was excellent, but that he needed more samples for comparison’s sake.

They were walking back into Emma’s apartment when Henry asked her, “So where’s Killian? You haven’t said anything about him the whole time I’ve been here., He seemed cool, and you seemed like you liked each other. My mom even said you went to a meeting for him or something.”

Emma stared down at him, bemused. “Did she now?”

“Yup. And no avoiding the question.”

“Jeez, some people are determined.”

He just looked up at her expectantly.

“Okay, fine. Um, yeah. We’re not seeing each other anymore. No hard feelings, it just didn’t work out,” she said. And she meant it. Ever since she’d received the bouquet from him and replied, they’d resumed a tentative friendship. He sent her jokes he thought she’d find funny or the occasional small bouquet. She’d replied with thanks and funny stories of her own, and she knew her anger was gone a few days before, when she’d been walking to work. She had passed a little antique shop she’d walked past a million times before, but this time, she saw an old ship in a bottle in the window.

It had immediately made her think of Killian. She’d gone in and bought it without a second thought. Emma still hadn’t given it to him, and she wasn’t sure when she would, but she knew it meant the worst of her anger was over. She wasn’t ready to get back together or to throw herself into his arms or anything like tha, but she wanted him back in her life.

Shaking her head, Emma pulled herself out of her reminiscing. “So… yeah. He’s great. And I think we’re friends again, maybe, but that’s it.”

Henry look at her dubiously, clearly doubting her protestations.

She shrugged. “That’s just how it goes sometimes, kid.”

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she might have protested too much, especially when she heard Henry mutter, “Adults are a mess, ugh.”

&&&

The rest of Henry’s visit passed peacefully, the two of them enjoying their final day together reading comics, watching movies, and playing video games. Emma and Regina had managed a cordial discussion and farewell at the end as they made tentative plans for another weekend in a few weeks.

She was pulling the sheets from the couch where Henry had slept, considering how she needed to invest in a sofa bed if he was going to keep staying with her  when she heard her phone buzzing with an incoming text message.

**Killian: I heard through the grapevine that Henry was there this weekend. Hope it went well!**

Emma smiled down at her screen.

**Emma: Wow, it’s almost like I told you about this weekend in my last email. :P But yeah, it did. I even got him to agree that grilled cheese from Granny’s is awesome, although he has the nerve to say he needs to try others to be sure it’s the best**

The three dots appeared immediately, and she awaited his quick reply

**Killian: He’s clearly as feisty as his mother, haha**

**Emma: Which one lol**

**Killian: Both! Regina scares me a little, but I can’t deny she’s audacious and ambitious. And I have every confidence in your pursuit of the best grilled cheese**

**Emma: I always do get my sandwich**

The conversation dwindled at that point, but Emma wasn’t entirely surprised when a “surprise” delivery person appeared at her door the next day.

But instead of the flowers she was half expecting, it was a box. The person making the delivery just shrugged as she looked at them inquisitively.

She took it inside and opened it, reaching for the sheaf of papers inside the neatly presented box. And then she laughed, full-on belly-laughed. It was a subscription to a grilled cheese box–or at least, vouchers for grilled cheese at some of the places around town that were known for offering good, cheesy sandwiches.

Once she was done laughing, Emma didn’t hesitate in taking out her phone and dialing Killian’s number. “Hey, thanks for the grilled cheese,” she said as soon as he picked up.

He laughed. “You’re welcome, lass. I saw it and I couldn’t help myself. I figured you and Henry could get some cheesy enjoyment out of it.”

“And if Henry can’t make it, you could come, if you’d like,” she suggested, chewing on her lip, hoping he couldn’t hear the complete uncertainty in her voice.

He paused. “What are you suggesting, Emma?”

“I…I think I want to be friends again.”

“Truly?” He sounded so eager, and it tugged at her heartstrings.

“Yep. Do–do you want to come over and talk about it?”

Killian replied almost before she was done asking, “Absolutely. I’ll be over soon. If you meant today, that is.”

“Red rover, red rover, send Killian on over,” she said, smiling even as the butterflies danced in her stomach.

&&&

It was an hour later when she let Killian in, and Emma muffled her laugh at how puppy-like he was in his earnestness.

“Hi, Swan. I didn’t bring anything. Should I have brought wine? I wanted to get over here as quickly as I could,” he said, eyes shining with hope, even as his ears were tinged in red.

Emma let out the laugh. “Okay, calm down, Jones. Just come sit on the couch with me.” She patted that cushion, and he sat next to her.

They sat in silence until he grew serious. “So…”

She nodded at him. “Yeah…”

“One of us should probably begin,” he said with the smallest quirk of his lip.

Biting her lower lip, she agreed. “And I think you should. I–I need a moment.”

“I don’t think I can apologize enough. For going behind your back, and lying about it,” Killian said hurriedly. The earnest look had returned, but there was something new with it–contrition.

“It’s just–I…I told you everything. You know it all, and you still lied to me.” Emma was getting incredibly annoyed at her newfound tendency to get choked up, and here she was, getting choked up again.

“I know,” he said, hanging his head.

She twisted her hands, looking down at her lap, and said, “I can’t do that again, you know?”

“And I can’t blame you for that.” He turned his gaze away from her and his shoulders slumped.

“But here’s the thing, I want to. I want to try. I miss talking to you, I miss being with you. And I want you,” Emma said, taking a deep, fortifying breath.

That hopeful look from earlier returned, even when he replied, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there, lass.”

Emma hesitated. “I’m really having a hard time with you lying to me and hiding things when I was vulnerable. You knew about Henry, you knew about prison, and you even fucking knew about Neal.”

“I told you about Milah and about the Navy.” He wasn’t quite defensive–no, it was more like he  was pleading with her.

“But you neglected the part where you were keeping tabs on me, and where August was basically blackmailing you with your visa. I mean, Jesus, Killian.” She shrugged, shaking her head in disbelief.

Killian buried his face in his hands for a moment before reaching over and seeking to entwine their fingers. “I–well, like I said, I have no excuse. I–Is there any way we can move past this, though? Or, perhaps, through it?”

She acknowledged his question, tinged as it was with desperation, with a serious nod. “I mean, I think we can try, as friends? I’m willing to. Just…promise me, no more lies.”

“As friends? So we’re not together again? For lack of a better phrase. Or is it just professional?”

“Can we…take it slow? And figure it out as we go?” Her voice was tremulous, indecisive.

He bit his lip, looking conflicted. “Part of why I did what I did was that I didn’t want to get hurt again. And I still don’t much like the idea. It just seems to me that not doing a good job of figuring out what we are could lead to  _more_  miscommunication and pain, rather than less. And I don’t want that for either of us, Emma.”

“I care about you. A lot. But so much is going on right now, and I’m trying to figure out how my life works again,” she said, wincing at her inability to offer him reassurance.

“I think I can do that.” To his credit, he only sounded the tiniest bit sad. His mouth was turned down, and she could see pain in his eyes, but he tried to smile.

Emma threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly. After a moment, she pulled back, chagrin clear on her face. Wincing again at the mixed signals she was sending, she asked, “Is this okay?”

“It only wouldn’t be okay if you didn’t do that,” he said, finally laughing a little.

She laughed. “That didn’t even make sense.”

“I know,” he said, still smiling.

&&&

Before she knew it, Henry was back for his second weekend visit. This time they had a chance to do some of the sight-seeing they hadn’t been able to the previous time. They even made it out to Cambridge for a visit to the Harvard Museum of Natural History, as per Henry’s request.

Henry was a smart kid, and he immediately picked up on the frequency with which she received incoming texts, and he was wily enough to peer over her arm and see that most of them were from Killian.

He shot her a more knowing look than any eleven year-old had a right to. “So you and Killian are friends again?”

She blushed and ducked her head, trying to hide her smile. “Uh, yeah, something like that.”

“Are you all back together?!” He was all but bouncing on his feet, eyes wide as he looked up at her.

“Not really. But he’s around again, and we spend time together,” she tried to explain.

And it was true, after a fashion. Emma and Killian were texting back and forth non-stop, and they’d managed two coffee non-dates. They’d talked about her novel and helped iron out some of the issues she was having with it, but they’d also debated the merits of the latest movies they had seen and which of them had found the cuter picture of cats and dogs cuddling with each other. Emma finally felt like her friendship with Killian was back on solid ground, and that they were potentially building the foundation for something more. She didn’t want to jinx it, but she felt like maybe after this they could last.

But she wasn’t ready to confide all of that to her preteen son. So she tried to change the subject back to him.

“So, about that math class of yours, Regina mentioned you’ve been having some trouble?”

He snorted. “It’s fine. I’m doing better, now that I have a tutor.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said with a smile. Remembering one of the issues he’d had a few months before, she asked more seriously, “What about that feeling you had about someone watching you a few months ago? Anything come of that?”

Henry screwed up his mouth, a line appearing between his brows. “Not really. Sometimes I still think… but no.”

“You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right?”

He let out a loud, aggrieved sigh. “Of course. I’d tell you and I’d tell Regina.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

&&&

After a stellar visit, Emma drove Henry back up to Storybrooke. Their next visit would be able to be a little longer, with Henry having a break from school coming up. She dropped him off at Regina’s, and decided to head out as soon as she could, even though Henry expressed some interest in bringing her to the comic book shop. She begged off, having gotten very little sleep the night before between late night chats with Henry and texts from a certain British someone. Henry was disappointed, but said he understood. Especially when he started grinning when she mentioned the texts from Killian.

The drive back was long, lengthened slightly by the nap Emma took at one of the rest stops along the way. All in all, though, she felt happy. At peace. It had been a good weekend, and it felt like things were finally going her way.

She was nearing Boston when her phone rang. She normally would just wait and deal with it when she got home, but she raised her eyebrows when she saw Regina’s name on the caller ID.

“Hey, Regina–”

The other woman’s panicked voice cut her off. “Where the hell is Henry? He’s been gone since about fifteen minutes after you left!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading through! And just keep in mind, the story isn't over...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories converge as everyone tries to find out what happened to Henry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've moved across the country but am back with more! Thank you to everyone who was so kind about my move, and to everyone instrumental in helping this chapter get into shape.

Killian was sitting with Robin in his living room, watching a film that if asked about it later, he’d never remember. They’d been at it for the better part of the afternoon, though they’d been limiting their drinking. Something about rousing Killian from an alcoholic funk after a week of nonstop drinking had put them off it. **  
**

He heard his phone ring with the custom tone he’d set for Emma, and he smiled. She was getting back from Maine, and maybe they could grab dinner…

“Emma, how are y–”

She cut him off abruptly. “Killian, Henry is missing.”

He gasped, “What the hell?”

“Will you meet me at Granny’s? I need to sit and talk with someone. Distract me?”

Frowning at the urgency in her voice, he nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Of course. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Robin is with me–do you want me to bring him along as well?”

“No. I mean, I want to meet him, but not now, I–I just want to see you,” she said.

His chest constricted, knowing he didn’t have time to process the warmth coursing through him at her inadvertent admission. But first, they had to focus on Henry’s disappearance. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

They hung up, and Killian was giving Robin a quick run-down of the situation, what he knew of it, at least, while he waited for his cab.

As Robin was listening, his phone started buzzing, some kind of notification clearly coming in from his precinct. He made a face, both surprise and speculation visible before he schooled his features. “And I just got a call to go in, about a disappearance and possible kidnapping.”

“Do you think…” Killian let his question trail off, unwilling to put words to his thoughts.

Robin shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not good, either way.”

As soon as Robin was gone, he pulled on his coat and went outside to meet the Uber waiting for him.

&&&

After a short ride filled with terse conversation with his driver, Killian finally pulled up to Granny’s. Emma’s car was in the lot, and he gave a sigh of relief at seeing her yellow monstrosity.

He made his way inside to find her sitting in a corner booth, Belle and Ruby across from her. She looked up, saw him approaching, and ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, a startled “oomph” escaping him as she barreled into him and he wrapped her in his embrace.

He stroked her hair, meeting Ruby’s eyes. She shrugged and took Belle’s hand in hers, both women somber and focused on Emma.

She finally extracted herself from his arms, though she let him take her hand. She squeezed it quickly, pulling him over to the booth and dragging him down next to her.

“So, what happened?” he asked.

Emma shook her head. She dropped his hand, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with both hands. “I have no idea. I dropped him off at Regina’s and drove back. I stopped for a little while to take a nap, and Regina called me when I was near the city again, which is when I called you.”

“I’m glad you did, love,” he said. “Do you–does anyone know anything further? What steps are being taken to find him? Forgive me for asking, but is it possible he just ran down to the comic book shop or to the ice cream shop?”

Belle looked at him, aghast, and Ruby squawked loudly, but Emma waved aside their protests. “No, he’s right. Those are reasonable questions. But yeah, I did ask Regina, and they can’t find him anywhere in town. Apparently they had one of the cops comb over the whole place, and no one had seen him since about fifteen minutes after I dropped him off.”

“What could possibly have happened in fifteen minutes?” Killian asked incredulously.

She shrugged. “I have no idea. Apparently he and Regina said a quick hello, but she had to finish up some paperwork, so she told him to go ahead on over to the comic book shop. But he never showed up, according to Doc Enano, the owner of the shop.”

He didn’t know what to say or what he could do, but he wrapped his arm around Emma. She leaned into him, resting a hand on his thigh. He might not be able to do much, but he could be there for his Swan. Even if he wouldn’t chance calling her that at this juncture.

Ruby stood and went to the kitchen, informing them she was getting them all some coffee. His stomach rebelled at the idea of adding caffeine to his system when he was already so wired, but he murmured his thanks anyway. He didn’t foresee sleep coming to any of them until Henry was found, so it would be fine.

The silence that had settled over their little group was disrupted when the bell over the door rang. When they looked up, they found it wasn’t new customers–it was the police. They didn’t acknowledge Ruby’s nod as she made her way back to their booth, even as they came closer.

Shock coursed through Killian when he saw that one of the officers was Robin, in plain clothes and with his jaw clenched. They stopped at the table, and Robin stepped forward.

Regret tinging his voice, he asked, “Which one of you is Emma Swan?”

“I am,” she said, leaning past Killian. He felt dread settling into his bones, fear twisting at his stomach as he held Emma and looked up at Robin.

“I really didn’t want to meet you this way,” he said, grimacing. “But alas. Miss Swan, I’m placing you under arrest on suspicion of the kidnapping and disappearance of Henry Mills. You have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Killian was halfway up and ready to punch Robin when he felt Emma and Belle pulling him back.

“Don’t, Killian. Just call Cleo. She’ll get my lawyer,” she said, her face having slipped into a blank mask. She squeezed his shoulder as she slid past him, and his heart stuttered.

Robin looked apologetic. “I… we can make this easy. I have to cuff you, but we’ll just go back to the precinct and talk. I’ll do what I can to make this easier for you.”

Emma just nodded, saying nothing.

Killian’s jaw clenched, and he glared at Robin. Belle patted his arm and motioned to his phone as he watched his friend walk away with the woman he had just realized he loved in police custody.

&&&

After what felt like an obscene number of hours later, Killian sat in the waiting room at the precinct. Cleo was next to him, her arms folded over her chest as they waited for an update on Emma’s status.

He had called Cleo as soon as Robin and his fellow officers had accompanied Emma out of the diner. She’d answered quickly, her horror and disgust evident in every short syllable she’d uttered. She had kept their conversation brief, but told him she’d come by to pick him up as soon as she got Emma’s lawyer on the line.

Her lawyer was a statuesque, intimidating woman with an icy demeanor and cutting, dry wit. He was told Kathryn Frederickson had a reputation for getting shit done, and for getting her defendants acquitted. She was a former Assistant DA who had recently struck out on her own, and apparently she had agreed to represent Emma as a favor to Cleo.

Kathryn had gone inside the room where Emma was being questioned, but that had been hours ago. Killian was hungry, grumpy, worried, and angry. As though she’d heard his internal rant, Cleo unfolded her arms and reached inside her bag, grabbing a bag of crisps that she passed over to him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his foot tapping on the scuffed floor.

She nodded and finally spoke, “No problem. With any luck, it won’t be much longer. They can technically hold her for up to twenty-four hours, but I can’t imagine they’ll find anything to make the charges stick.”

“Emma hasn’t been charged with anything,” said Kathryn, her heels clacking as she made her way toward them. “She’ll be out soon.”

He could have wept with relief. “So she’s off? They know it wasn’t her?”

“I might have pointed out Emma’s stellar alibi, in the form of all those cameras along the interstate. Fortunately, she’s pretty hard to miss in that yellow Bug. It was just a matter of waiting for the footage,” Kathryn explained, a slight smile twisting her mouth.

Cleo smiled. “Thanks,” she said. Then her smile faded. “Wait, what does this mean for Henry?”

Kathryn grimaced. “Unfortunately, since they thought Emma was behind the kidnapping, they weren’t exactly looking for anyone else for the last few hours. So whoever is behind Henry’s disappearance has a couple more hours lead.”

“Shit,” Killian swore.

Then he saw Emma coming from the back, and he leapt up to go to her. He halted as soon as he saw Robin walking beside her, the two of them in close conversation. He tried to push down the rage bubbling inside him, knowing there was nothing to be gained from confronting Robin in his own precinct.

As they got closer, he could finally make out their conversation. “…so sorry. But I had to do due diligence, regardless of my personal feelings,” Robin said.

“I get it. It’s fine. And maybe we can have a do-over once Killian cools down,” Emma said, her eyes drifting over to meet Killian’s. She smiled softly, even though it was obvious she was tired and strained.

He smiled back and opened his arms to her. As soon as he felt her arms wrap around his waist, he felt his anger begin to ebb away. His shoulders slumped with relief and in the absence of the rage that had been fueling him, keeping him awake, he felt his own tiredness creep over his limbs.

Robin patted his shoulder. “Killian… I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, waiting for the negative emotions to return and a sharp retort to rise to his lips. None did. “If Emma’s good with you, then so am I.”

Robin nodded before also drawing in a breath. “Well, now it’s time to get to work.”

Emma squeezed his waist, turning in his arms to face Robin. “Let’s go find my son.”

&&&

They ended up going to Emma’s to grab a few hours of sleep. There was nothing to be gained by staying at the precinct, Robin informed them, other than aching backs that they were too old to deal with. He promised to call as soon as they had any new information or leads.

Emma tried calling Regina, but it went straight to voicemail. That sealed the deal for her–Emma finally agreed to go home for a while, at least until morning. Killian hesitated for a moment, but then Emma dragged him down the steps and into a cab.

Killian was happy to be needed, or even just wanted by her.

So it was without much fanfare that he allowed himself to be pulled into her apartment. They didn’t exchange much conversation as they prepared for bed–she found a spare toothbrush for him, and he said he’d make do with sleeping in his boxer briefs. It was less than thirty minutes after they arrived that they were in bed, their limbs tangled together. He brushed a kiss across her lips, and she bid him goodnight.

He awoke with a start about three hours later when he heard a banging on the door. Emma startled awake too, sitting up quickly. She pulled on a robe over her pajamas and rubbed her eyes before heading to the living room to answer the door.

Killian swung his legs over the side of the bed, hoping his jeans and button-up weren’t too mussed from the previous day. He joined Emma where she was paused before the door, a panicked but hopeful look on her face.

“It’s Regina,” she whispered, eyes wide.

He shrugged, not knowing why she might be here.

Emma took a deep breath and opened the door. “Regina? Has there been any word?”

Regina didn’t answer. Instead, she burst into the room, tearing toward the back. “Where is he?! Where is my son?! Tell me where you’re hiding him.”

Killian felt the rage kindle in his chest again. How dare she come into Swan’s home and accuse her of–

He let go of his anger as soon as he saw Emma’s face. Instead of the anger he had been expecting to see, he saw compassion and sadness (and surprise, but that was understandable).

“Regina, he’s not here. I don’t have him. I’ve been waiting to hear more updates, just like you,” she said quietly, as soothingly as she could probably manage.

Regina came at Emma, fists flying, clearly not wanting to listen to Emma.

Emma halted her by grabbing her wrists firmly, shaking her lightly. “Regina. I. Do. Not. Have. Him. We’re on the same side here.”

Regina stopped, her face crumpling. Tears streaked down her face, and she collapsed into Emma’s arms. Emma dropped her wrists and pulled her into a hug. “Shhh, shh. Let it out.”

She continued to sob, and Killian began to feel superfluous and awkward. He made his way into the kitchen and started to prepare more coffee. It looked like this would be a long day.

Adding some chocolate and cinnamon to Emma’s, he topped it with whipped cream. Peeking his head out of the kitchen, he asked, “Regina, how do you take your coffee?”

He heard a sniffle, and then a hoarse response. “Black, but with whipped cream, if you have it?”

“Done,” he said, preparing her beverage and then his own. He carried them out to the living room, where Swan had pulled Regina onto the couch next to her. Both women’s eyes were rimmed in red, both clearly exhausted. Regina had the remnants of her mascara tracked down her face, and Emma’s hair was mussed beyond repair.

After a few more moments of silence, during which they all drank deeply of their coffee, Emma finally spoke. “I tried calling you last night before going to bed, but it went to voicemail. I haven’t heard anything since then, have you?”

Regina’s hands twitched and she looked down at them. “No. I–I thought it was you. I thought you were lying, and that you had taken him. You two have gotten so much closer…”

“…that you thought I’d taken him somehow when I left,” she said, looking thoughtful.

“I–yes. I’m sorry,” Regina said quietly.

Emma shook her head. “No, don’t worry about that. I–well, it wasn’t that long ago that I thought you might be up to something. You know, with Henry talking about feeling like he was being followed–” She stopped mid-sentence, and Regina, Emma, and Killian all stared at each other dumbfounded.

“Did you say anything about that to the detectives?” Emma asked.

Regina licked her lips, her eyes wide with fear and self-recrimination for having forgotten. Killian could recognize the look, having experienced it pretty regularly himself. “No. I didn’t even think –did you?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to call Robin?” he asked, already reaching for his phone.

“Please,” Emma said hurriedly.

As he found Robin in his contacts, he heard Regina ask, “Who’s Robin?”

“A friend of Killian’s who happens to be the lead detective in Boston for the case. I think he’s working with someone in Maine,” Emma replied.

“Yes, Sheriff Jameson. He’s from Storybrooke, though he works in Augusta now, but he’d be in charge. He’s a good man, and a good detective.”

Emma smiled. “That’s good. Are you…are we going to be okay? For Henry?”

“I think so. Wait, you really thought it was me?” Regina blurted.

She shrugged. “Maybe? It wasn’t the most rational time for me. Henry had just come back into my life, and you didn’t seem thrilled, and then everything happened with Killian…”

Regina snorted. “I wasn’t happy about it because I thought I’d lose Henry, that he wouldn’t want me anymore with you in his life. Your life is more glamorous, and you have Jones here–and by the way, I thought you two were done?–and I was jealous. Henry is all I have,” she said, her voice breaking.

“I promise it isn’t as glamorous as it seems. And Killian and I aren’t back together. Not exactly,” Emma said.

Killian looked over at her as he waited for Robin to pick up, a small, sad smile on his face.

Emma continued, “Besides, I think Henry would want us to work together. He loves you, and I could never replace you. Nor would I want to. We…we could both be his family.”

Regina sat silently, a thoughtful, contemplative look on her face. She nodded.

Finally, Robin answered his phone.

“Killian? Do you have something?”

“Robin, mate. Aye, we have something. I’m here with Emma and Regina, and they’ve remembered something.”

Robin cursed. “Shit, tell me. And I’ll be over as soon as I can, if it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“Should be fine, especially if you bring pastries. Thank you. I’m putting you on speaker, since Regina and Emma will be able to do a better job with the information than I can,” he said.

“Robin? Hey. So Henry has told both me and Regina over the last few months that he’s felt like someone is following him. I looked into it a little when he first mentioned it, but I didn’t find much,” Emma said.

Regina leaned over. “I looked into it too when it first started, but nothing came up. And occasionally we go see a therapist. Henry does have anxiety, so I thought it might just be that. I didn’t know.”

“It’ll be fine, Ms. Mills, Ms. Swan. We’ll do our best to see to it that this gets sorted,” Robin’s voice crackled through. “Let me pass this onto a couple of the other detectives, and then I’ll head on over to you. See you in about 45 minutes?”

They all murmured their assent and bid Robin farewell. They sat quietly, finishing up their coffee. As soon as they were done, Regina went to the restroom to freshen up, and he and Emma went into the bedroom to get dressed.

“You okay, love?” he asked.

Emma sighed. “Henry’s gone, and I’m tired and stressed, so…”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. She leaned back into him and reached up into squeeze his hand. “Thank you for being here.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

&&&

By the time Robin showed up, Regina looked as composed as usual, if more tense and on-edge. Emma still looked in need of a good night’s sleep, but was otherwise lovely in a flowery tunic and leggings. Killian knew he was a mess in yesterday’s clothes, but he’d at least been able to wash his face and brush his teeth.

When Robin arrived at the door, Emma let him in. He came bearing a box of pastries, and Killian chuckled at Emma’s jibe about cops and donuts. “It’s actually scones!”

Killian nodded, and then decided to get matters rolling. “Well, you’ve met Emma, but this is Regina Mills, Henry’s other mother. She’s also the founder of Mills & Booth Publishing.”

“And the heir to Regal Hearts Publishing,” chimed in Emma helpfully.

Regina rolled her eyes, looking as imperious as ever. “Robin, was it? Or do you prefer Detective…?”

“Detective Locksley, but Robin is fine,” he said, his eyes riveted on Regina.

She gave him an assessing look, but quickly turned back to the matter at hand. “So, can you help with Henry? Are you working with Sheriff Jameson up in Maine? What kind of news do you have?”

Any admiration Robin may have been feeling was subsumed into the professional mask he donned. “Our office has been working with Sheriff Jameson and other local law enforcement. In fact, while I’ll remain on the case with a few of my people, it will be falling under the jurisdiction of Maine’s police service. With Ms. Swan being cleared, there isn’t much to suggest Henry would be in Boston.”

“What happens if this goes on much longer? I mean, once it’s been 24 hours…” Emma let her words trail off, knowing they all knew the increased risks to Henry at that point.

“That’s true, but we’re hopeful. We found some signs of a struggle near a path in Storybrooke, one Henry would have to pass by to get to the comic book shop, which fairly well eliminates any chance of him having run away. It’s a solid lead that’s being pursued even as we speak.”

Killian fought the urge to curse, as that likely wouldn’t help. Henry running away would be bad, but at some point he’d likely want to come home. Kidnapping, on other hand, offered no such likelihoods.

“So what do we do now, Detective? I don’t think any of us just wants to sit around and wait for word,” Regina said, the urgency in her voice lost on none of them.

Robin nodded, and his face twisted wryly. “I know it’s a difficult situation. My advice is to head back to Storybrooke. I have a feeling Henry’s still there somewhere. I know you just got here, Ms. Mills, but…”

“No, it’s fine. If it’s the best thing to do…”

“…then we’ll do it,” finished Emma.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleo tries to help smooth over the situation but runs into something else...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends, for being a small chapter words-wise, a lot happens...

_Cleo_

Cleo walked through the dark hallway down to her office. Emma and Killian had gone to get a few hours of sleep, and Regina was apparently on her way down to Boston. And as much as she wanted to go home, to curl up next to Alex and be ready to put breakfast together for Jamie before school, it wasn’t going to happen tonight. She was wired, and there were things to do.

She knew she was missing something. In all the information she’d gathered, there had to be something there. Cleo couldn’t help but feel as though she’d already stumbled upon the key to this whole thing–August spying on Emma, Killian’s immigration woes, Henry’s disappearance, and Emma being arrested for it. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Sitting down at her desk, she unlocked the drawer. She lifted out the metal liner that fit snugly inside the drawer, filling all but an inch and a half at the bottom of it. Lifting out all the hard copies of the files she had, she left the USB drive inside and replaced the liner.

What was the connection? Emma had to be at the center of it, right? She had ties to everyone involved, as far as she could tell. Cleo looked at Emma’s file and made her notes. Bestselling author, contracted with Mills & Booth. Mills & Booth was run by Regina Mills, the adoptive mother of the son Emma had given up as a teenager, and August Booth, who had “discovered” Emma and brought her on as a writer. Cleo knew her well and had worked with her. Killian was her editor and sometimes love interest. And Henry, of course, was Emma’s son.

But it wasn’t Emma. Even if she hadn’t been cleared of any involvement, Cleo  _knew_ she wasn’t involved in the heart of this.

So maybe August was it, then. He had ties to the rest of them too. Regina’s partner, Emma’s publisher and de facto agent, he’d known Killian enough to want to bring him on, he was one of her bosses, and he knew Henry through Regina, if not terribly well.

What was she missing? Cleo wracked her brain. Then the answer came to her, an offhand comment uttered in anger.

“ _How sentimental of you, and it might be more believable if I hadn’t just seen a plan Mr. Booth drew up granting you shares in Mills & Booth,_” Regina had said to her mother at their meeting.

Shit.

Shit fucking damn.

August was working with Cora Mills. Cora had been that female voice on the other end of that conversation she’d heard. And of course her voice had been familiar. She and Regina might have been estranged, but the woman was a legend in publishing. Anyone in the business worth their salt would have heard her speak at least once or twice.

Cleo scribbled Cora’s name on a post-it, along with her notes about her ties to August. She hurried to shove it in the compartment of her drawer before closing it. Standing, she paced the room, agitated as she’d ever been.

Why? What did Cora stand to gain from working with August?

It made some sense. She was probably the contact who had facilitated the immigration process for Jones. She was fabulously wealthy and well-connected, so that worked. It would also explain why things had gotten difficult for him when he stopped cooperating with August.

She continued to pace. Her mind buzzed with all the possibilities, the ways Cora could have been involved.

She tried to list the things she knew.

1\. Cora and August were working together.

2\. Cora had recently come by Mills & Booth, ostensibly to reconnect with her estranged daughter.

That had been what she claimed, at least. Cleo paused, considering. If she took Cora’s words at face value, then she was eager to reconnect with Regina. Leaving aside all possible motives for that, it was plausible.

But… why, then, would she arrange for Henry to be taken? That seemed counter-intuitive. Taking away the person Regina loved the most–maybe the only person she loved–would probably have the opposite effect.

Unless,  _unless_ , it was blamed on a convenient scapegoat. Emma. Regina hadn’t seemed to want Emma around Henry. Making it seem as though she were responsible for taking Henry away would deepen hostilities there.

And Regina might well turn to her supportive mother in her time of need. Her mother, whose connections could work so well in tracking down lost Henry, especially if she already knew where he was. It could easily be blamed on Emma, whose sealed records probably wouldn’t stay that way. And Cora would be there to find a good lawyer, to pick up the pieces…to whatever end.

 _Goddamn, the woman was evil_ , thought Cleo. She needed to think. She needed to find proof before anyone would take this seriously. You didn’t fuck around with Cora Mills, everyone knew that.

Well, she could tell Emma, and Killian by default. They would believe her, or at least listen to her. And they could help her find evidence to back this up, or prove her wrong.

Honestly, she should probably just call Emma or that detective and go home and go to bed. She didn’t know how she’d gotten pulled into this mess anyway.

But then she shuddered, imagining her terror if it had been Jamie instead of Henry in this position. Cleo thought about Jamie’s  sweet smile, his panicked cries when he had a nightmare, how she had promised him when she and Alex brought him home from the hospital that she would make the world a kinder, more beautiful world for him.

Cleo knew what she had to do.

Tightening her jaw and nodding decisively, she gathered up all the files on her desk. She would deal with the repercussions of her investigation, especially if it helped get Henry back, if it put awful people behind bars where they belonged. She could do this. She would call Emma, would go to Detective Locksley with what she had.

Then she could go home to her husband and her son, free of worry beyond planning their next vacation.

She stood and turned off the light in her office. She smiled, seeing the dawn light creeping over the city, the weak rays lightening the office, lighting her way.

Cleo grabbed her phone as she walked through the entry area, searching for Emma in her recent calls. In her distraction, she didn’t notice the presence behind her.

Before she could press “Call”, she felt a flash of pain as something crashed across the back of her head, and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partway through their investigation of Henry's disappearance, Emma, Killian, and Regina learn of Cleo's fate. Coping yields revelations, even if not everything is made plain yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fasten your seatbelts, folks, because this one is a ROLLERCOASTER.

_Emma_

Robin apologized again as they walked across the tarmac. “I’m so sorry, I know you’ve only been here a couple of hours.”

Regina waved his words aside. “Don’t worry about that. Anything that gets me closer to Henry is all that matters right now.”

Emma eyed the small plane in front of them. “It’s handy you have access to a private jet.” Regina gave her a withering look, and Emma threw up her hands. “Hey, no complaints. It’s just nifty. I’ve never been on one before.”

“Spare me the positivity, Miss Swan,” was Regina’s frigid reply.

_Ah well_ , Emma thought, _the bonding couldn’t last forever_.

Then Regina stopped, looking sheepish. “Sorry. It’s just…my mother found out somehow, and she won’t stop calling. She seems to think I’m going to suddenly start clinging to her right now. ‘I’ll be there for you if you just let me’, like she hasn’t spent a lifetime lying to and manipulating me.”

Emma paused next to her as Killian and Robin looked away, clearly ill at ease in light of their tiff and Regina’s confession. “I get that. We’re all stressed. Let’s just get our son back, okay?” She reached over and squeezed Regina’s arm.

The four of them ascended the stairs to the interior of the jet and took their seats. Regina headed up to the cockpit to make sure the plane was ready for such a quick turnaround, but they got the okay and strapped in.

The flight attendant poured them mimosas along with their coffee, and they all sat silently for a while. Robin pulled out his case notes to go over through the duration of their flight. It would be a short flight, scarcely over an hour, but all of them were antsy.

Emma fidgeted in her chair. It was comfortable, but she had no idea what to do with herself. There was no way she could possibly get anything done with her mind in its current state, but she had way too much nervous energy to try to sleep.

She had just started twiddling her thumbs when Killian reached over from his spot next to her and took her hand. He looked over at her, an understanding look on his face. He quirked an eyebrow and lifted an arm, his embrace waiting for her. She melted into him, ignoring the looks Robin and Regina and exchanged.

And a secret part of her would always treasure the absolutely besotted look of utter devotion on Killian’s face.

&&&

There was a squad car waiting for them at the tiny municipal airport when they arrived. They were then ushered right to the path where the police had found signs of a disturbance that might have been Henry. A tall man was there waiting for them, coffee cup in hand. He was comfortably middle-aged, his light brown hair peppered with grey. He was still fairly trim, only the deep crow’s feet around his eyes belying that he was likely around fifty.

“Detective Locksley, I presume?” he asked. “Regina, I’m glad you’re here, even under these awful circumstances.”

Regina’s features softened, and she nodded in acknowledgment. “Sheriff Jameson, this is Emma Swan and Killian Jones. Emma is Henry’s birth mother and Mr. Jones is her… person. Is there anything new?”

His blue-grey eyes met Emma’s when he heard her name, but he turned back to Regina. "Seriously, Regina–and all of you, just call me David.”

Emma’s stomach was knotted with anxiety, but she still barely held back a snort. Although she supposed Killian being her  _person_  was the best descriptor she’d heard lately.

Robin greeted the sheriff and echoed Regina’s question about whether any big advances had been made while they were in transit.

“Unfortunately, nothing big, but we have a team combing the woods along the trail. We found a fragment of Henry’s scarf in some of the thorns along what looks like the kidnapper’s trail. It’s pretty trampled down, but with some of the snow we’ve been getting, it’s hard to tell whether the person is a good woodsman or not,” he explained.

They all murmured their responses, and Emma wondered what they were to do now. She was glad to be closer, but she was at a loss.

Her question was soon answered by Sheriff Jameson…er, David. “We’re just waiting for one of my deputies to get here and take my place here at the head of the trail, then I’ll show you the path we think the kidnapper and your son took.” He gestured to the wooded expanse beside him. “If any of you need anything–better shoes or coats–now is the time to let us know.”

Emma looked down at her utilitarian outfit, and then glanced over at Regina and her heeled boots.

Regina sighed. “Fine. I’ll need something else, but I have a pair that should work in my bag.” Robin went over to the car and retrieved her tote, and she put on the more sensible boots she had stashed in it.

They were almost ready to head on down the path, just waiting for the deputy’s arrival, when Robin’s phone rang.

“Locksley here. Oh. What–shit. Really? Hold on. Yes, I’ll let them know. He paused a moment and then continued, “All right, good luck, Fa. Thanks.”

Everyone was looking at him expectantly as he pocketed his phone, and Emma swallowed down the dread she felt when she noticed how pale Robin had gone.

He sighed. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news. But there’s been a death–Cleo Fox. It looks like murder, and we’ll need all of you to answer some questions, since you knew her.”

Silence reigned, and then Emma’s knees buckled. She fell into Killian, who gasped in shock at the news. Regina went white as a sheet and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Does…does anyone know anything?” Emma asked, her voice hoarse with her shock and grief, once she righted herself.

Robin shook his head, looking grim. “I didn’t get a lot of details from Detective Fa, but she was found outside Mills & Booth this morning around nine. The time of death was probably between four and seven this morning.”

Killian cursed a blue streak. “So we’re all to head back to Boston, abandoning the search for Henry too?”

Running a hand through his hair and biting his lip in indecision, Robin paused, considering. “Okay, no. It’s unlikely we’ll need to talk to all of you today. None of you are suspects, but you will be needed shortly. If one or two of you wanted to go back, another could stay here? I’ll let Mulan know and square it away.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll go back to Boston,” Emma said, earning looks of surprise from the others. Truthfully, she was a bit surprised at herself, but she’d seen how devastated Regina looked at the idea of having to leave. “I probably knew Cleo best out of all of us, and Regina should stay here until Henry is found, since she knows the area. Just…please call me if you find  _anything_ , okay?”

Regina choked up and nodded gratefully. “Of course. I’ll call you the second we find anything at all. And if you find anything out about Cleo, do the same for me?”

“Definitely,” she said.

“I’m going with you, Swan,” Killian said, “unless I’m needed here.” He looked at Robin for confirmation that it would be acceptable, and received a nod in response.

Still in his arms, she squeezed his shoulder tighter, and said, “Yeah, that would be good.” She turned her head and nodded at the others. “Regina, Robin, we’ll talk soon. And nice to meet you, Sher–David.”

&&&

She and Killian decided to drive back to Boston. Ultimately, it would take about the same amount of time as waiting for the jet to be ready and for them to get around, so Regina sent them in the car with her driver. They decided to stop by Killian’s to pick up some clothes, and then headed to Emma’s to await more news. There was no sense in splitting up when they’d both be needed, and Emma appreciated him being there for her.

It was early evening by the time they made it back to Emma’s. Other than brief text exchanges with Robin and Regina, neither of them had heard anything of note, least of all from Detective Fa. So they decided to run over to the little deli by the corner and pick up some food, and then try to distract themselves with television or a movie. Emma doubted even Leia Organa and Han Solo themselves stepping from the screen and into her living room could distract her, but she was willing–no, desperate–to give it a shot.

They had just finished their sandwiches and settled in to watch more Parks and Rec, but Emma found herself unable to focus, even as Ron Swanson drunkenly danced across her screen. She couldn’t stop thoughts of Henry from running through her head.  _Where was he? Would be be okay? What would it take to get him back?_

Killian interrupted her rapidly derailing train of thought, nudging her knee with his. “Swan? I’m getting the impression that Pawnee, Indiana isn’t as inspiring as it usually is.”

She sighed and picked up the remote, pausing the show. “No, it’s really not.”

“Then let me help.” Killian reached over, draping his arm over her shoulder, tugging her closer to his side. Emma let herself follow his lead, pulling her legs up and resting her knees on his thigh.

“How?” she asked once she dropped her head against his shoulder.

“Would a bath and a back massage help?”

She glanced up at him dubiously. “I can’t tell if you’re implying that I stink or if you’re trying to get fresh with me.”

“You smell fine, though bathing would probably do us both good. And I’m always trying to get fresh, darling,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes but cracked a small smile. “Fine, fine. You win. Actually, I have an idea. Why don’t you go shower–because as much as I lo–enjoy–your presence, you do smell a little ripe.” Her grin widened. “I’ll mix up some brownies while you do, and you can make sure they come out of the oven while I take a relaxing bath. Then I’ll take you up on that massage. I’m curious to see what that hand can do.”

“You have no idea,” Killian said, wriggling his fingers at her playfully.

For the first time since Henry had disappeared, Emma let out a genuine laugh.

&&&

By the time she emerged from the bath, Emma felt…well, she felt cleaner and less grimy at least. She was still on edge, and there was no way around it–there would be no focusing on anything until they found Henry and had some light shed on what the hell had happened to Cleo.

None of it felt quite real. How could this be her life?  _Why_? Where was the sense in any of what was happening?

She was so distracted, she almost didn’t notice Killian walking toward her with a glass of wine.

“Swan?” he asked, sitting down on the couch.

“Huh?” She glanced at him, taking in the wine glass he held out to her. “Oh. I’m not sure we should be drinking, since we have no idea when we’ll get a call.” Her stomach twinged with regret even as she said the words. He was wearing pajama pants, but was shirtless, and part of her wanted to reach out and run her fingers along his belly. Emma might have been very caught up in everything going on, but she still wasn’t blind.

He smiled patiently at her. “I’m not saying you should get drunk, love, but a glass to take off the edge could be a good thing. Not to mention the brownies. I can’t imagine they’ll want us in at the station this late at night, so I think we can call it a night for now.”

Any resistance melted out of her. He had a point. “And I remember you saying something about a massage?” she asked, a small smile curving the corner of her mouth

“I can do that.” He tapped his bare foot on the floor in front of him. “Sit here in front of me?”

Emma sank to the rug in front of Killian’s place on the couch. “I’m ready to be wowed.”

“And hopefully you will be.” Killian gently lifted her hair away from her shoulders, taking the hair tie she handed him and twisted her hair into a loose bun.

Emma tried to let go of her tension as he started gently rubbing circles in her shoulders, bared as they were by her tank top. He kneaded his way up the column of her neck, and she dropped her head forward as she let out a low moan.  _This_ , she thought,  _now this was nice_. She could get used to this.

He focused on the areas that elicited the most response from her, and she sipped at her wine as he did. In fact, she was close to dozing off when the image of Cleo lying outside Mills & Booth, eyes vacant and unseeing flashed across her mind. Then it became Henry. She jerked upright at that, the tension in her neck and shoulders returning in an instant.

Killian stilled his hand. “Emma? What’s wrong, love?”

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “I…I’ve been trying so hard to stay positive, but what if something happened to Henry? Cleo was so strong, so smart, and now she’s dead. And I can’t help but worry that Henry–”

“Don’t say it. I refuse to believe that your lad–yours and Regina’s–has come to any serious harm. Both of you are smart, resourceful, and stubborn and he shares those traits with you. Don’t forget that this is the same child who tracked you down with only the barest details. Please, don’t give up hope, my love.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the endearment. She had turned to look at him, and he was all earnestness and passion. His eyes were bluer than she could remember seeing, and she lifted herself into his lap and slumped into his embrace. The earlier echoes of the pleasure she’d felt at his touch still coursed through her limbs, and left her with an idea.

One she hoped she wouldn’t regret in the morning.

“Distract me?” she asked, standing up and reaching a hand out to him.

His eyes focused on hers as he considered her carefully. “What exactly would that entail?” He paused, speaking slowly, clearly reticent, before he stood and took her hand, pulling her into a hug again.

With her face buried against his chest, she finally spoke. “I…I need you. And I want you. All the time. And I need to not think right now, and you’re the only one I–”

Tipping up her head, Killian cut off her rambling with a bruising kiss. She lost herself in the moment, in the feel of his lips pressed to hers, until he pulled away. “Are you sure?” he asked, looking down at her. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“The fact you’re asking me makes me sure.” She offered him a small, crooked smile. “ I won’t regret it. I won’t regret us. I promise,” she vowed seriously. “Now please…”

Emma let her words trail off, and took his hand to lead him into her bedroom.

She felt shyness creep over her when they made it to her bed. She moved to turn on the bedside lamp, hoping to steady herself. As she glanced at the room, she had the brief thought, the brief hope, that he wouldn’t be too put off by the relative disorder. She’d seen his room, and it decidedly lacked the piles of clothes (clean, but still) and shoes that dominated her floor.

She had let go of his hand when she went to turn on the dimmed light, the warm, intimate glow soothing her nerves. He met her eyes, and she saw the want shining in them. Desire for her, for what they were about to do. And she also saw something else, something warmer and softer that she wasn’t ready to consider right now.

“Emma, love, if you don’t want to, we don’t have t–”

His voice soothed her, putting to rest any lingering doubts she might have had. So she interrupted him. “I want to. Please.”

That seemed to cease his worrying, the line between his eyebrows evening out. Killian walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. There was no hesitation in the kiss he initiated, it was all fire and passion, and Emma surrendered herself to it.

Emma felt like she was on fire, everywhere their skin touched, and she reveled in the feel of his chest hair as she ran her fingers through it before twining her arms around his neck.

He nipped at her bottom lip, growling his appreciation as she pressed against him. She could feel the beginnings of his arousal press against her stomach, and she gloried in it. She shifted against him, desperately trying to think of a way to be even closer to him, to feel more of him, when his hands, both real and prosthetic, drifted until they were cupping her ass.

He lifted her up easily, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding against the hardness now resting at her center. Their faces were level now, and she pulled back from his kiss for a breath. What she saw left her undone.

Killian looked wrecked. His pupils were wide, eyes black with his desire for her. His lips were red and swollen, but it was the tenderness in his gaze that truly did her in. It rested side by side with the lust he was obviously feeling, and she felt a surge of affection rise in her chest. She rested her forehead against his, breathing in the moment.

He closed his eyes, and Emma smiled. Finally, she spoke. “Bed?”

He nodded and slowly walked them the couple of feet over to the piece of furniture in question. He lowered her down, nudging her backwards before coming to rest over her. Propping himself up on one arm, he ran his hand through her hair, releasing it from the bun he’d put it in a short time ago.

“It’s still wet,” she murmured.

His reply was distracted, as he’d begun trailing light kisses down her neck. “Pardon?”

“My hair. It’s still wet.”

“It won’t be the only thing that’s wet before long. And it’s lovely,” he said, nosing aside the strap of her tank top.

Emma huffed out a quiet laugh as he trailed he tongue along her shoulder. She then pulled back and pushed at his chest gently, kissing him when he gave her a questioning look. “Killian, I know you probably want this to be sweet and gentle and a whole bunch of other adjectives, but right now? I just need you. I’m ready. We can do slow and sweet later.”

“So this isn’t a one-time thing?” he asked, his breathing ragged.

“Not at all,” she said, pulling her tank top off and reaching for the waistband of his pants.

Relief and desire shone in the look he gave her.

In short order, they were naked before one other. Emma felt dazed looking at him, his beauty a tad overwhelming. His cock was hard and jutted up from his neatly trimmed dark hair.

_God, he was gorgeous_ , Emma thought. She licked at her lip as she took his arousal in hand, thumbing the bit of pre-cum beaded at his head. She used it to lubricate the slow strokes she gave him, and she nearly groaned at the the thought of next time, when she could use her mouth to bring him pleasure.

Killian groaned and watched her hand as it worked over him before turning his attention to her. He drew his hand up her stomach, thumbing at the swell of her breast and pulling her nipples between his fingers, pinching until they tightened. She felt the pull of her desire low in her belly, and she knew she didn’t need much more.

But before she could voice that thought, Killian slowly drew his hand back down that tortuous route along her belly. Her words were swallowed by a moan as his hand dropped between her thighs and he traced along her slit, dipping one finger to tease at her entrance.

He leaned in, dragging his mouth along the shell of her ear, and whispered, “God, Emma, you’re soaked.”

“Mhmm. Killian, please…” She pulled away, hurriedly reaching into her bedside drawer for the condoms she kept there.

“Are you ready?” he asked hoarsely.

Emma nodded, tearing open the foil packet. She rolled the condom onto him and then moved to straddle him.

To her surprise, he rolled them over. He kissed her, and it was both tender and passionate. That same surge of affection from earlier came back, and she returned his kiss eagerly.

His cock was now resting along her slit. He was so close to where she wanted him. She wrapped her arms under his, her nails scraping along his shoulder blades as he plundered her mouth. Then he moved, thrusting against her clit.

Emma moaned, wanting to feel it again and again until she burst. “Don’t stop.”

“Emma,” he rasped, sliding against her wetness. He was coated in her now, moving slowly but determinedly.

Then his cock caught on her opening. She lifted her legs from where they were spread against her comforter and wrapped them around his hips. Her heels dug into his ass, pulling him in deeper until he finally bottomed out, and they let out twin groans of satisfaction.

“You feel so good, love.”

She squeezed him with her inner muscles, earning a shudder and a nip on that spot below her ear. “Move,” she bit out, squeezing him again.

And he did. He didn’t hold back, thrusting into her hard and fast. He clearly remembered her earlier words, and he gave her exactly what she wanted. She felt her pleasure build as he moved in and out of her, her desperation increasing with each thrust.

Killian seemed to feel the same way, and he reached between them to rub her clit. She keened loudly, the sound echoing through the room.

He chuckled, but continued his ministrations. His thrusts were starting to become more frantic and lacking in rhythm when she gritted out, “God, Killian, I’m so close.”

He sucked at that place on her neck again as he rubbed at her clit, plowing into her even harder. Finally, she clenched around him, seeing stars as her release swept over her. It took him only a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered and he slumped against her.

When he finally rolled off her, he looked dazed and sated. Emma was sure her face mirrored his, and she ran a hand over his sweat-soaked side.

He blinked sleepily, but leaned over to brush a kiss over her lips. “How are you feeling?”

“That was…”

“I know,” he said, smirking. She might have smacked him, were she not completely boneless.

He got up to dispose of the condom, and when he returned to the bed he grew serious. Emma wanted to linger in that blissed-out place, she really did. But things were starting to come back, the distraction only temporary.

Killian seemed to get it. “Love?”

“Will you hold me? And maybe in a little bit, we can do that again?” she asked.

“Whatever you need of me is yours, Emma,” he said, climbing into bed and pulling her toward him.

&&&

Her phone flashed the time–6:30–when she woke next. The reason for her wake-up–a text notification from Detective Fa about coming by the station at 8.

She sighed and sat up, slipping out of Killian’s embrace. She would have to wake him, but maybe first, she could savor the moment. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers through his dark hair. He mumbled, and finally opened an eye and blinked blearily at her.

(God, he was  _cute_.)

“Morning, sleepyhead. Detective Fa wants to meet up with us at the station in an hour and a half,” she said, her hand still caressing his face.

Killian grumbled, then sat facing her. She sighed again–this time from happiness–at the sight of his bare chest when the sheet pooled around his waist. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll be ready for that.” He let out a massive yawn, and she chuckled.

“I’m going to go make some coffee,” Emma said, standing. She was still naked, and she didn’t miss the lingering look Killian gave her as she slipped on her robe.

“Well, we definitely need caffeine. Or I do, anyway. I’m rather worn out from our…activities.” He smiled and waggled an eyebrow at her. “How are you holding up, my lovely Swan?”

She smiled. If it were any other time, she probably would have giggled. “I’m fine. A little sore, but I actually feel pretty rested.”

Which surprised her a little. When Killian had come back to bed after cleaning up the previous night, she had experienced his truly remarkable recovery time, and they had had another go, this time with Emma riding him until they were both exhausted. They had drifted off soon after, waking up once in the night for a more gentle, but no less satisfying, round that Emma would label “lovemaking” if she were being a sap. Which she totally wasn’t.

Shaking her head and emerging from her moment of reverie, she met Killian’s eyes, and he was looking at her as though she’d hung the moon. Or like she was the morning sun, which seemed more appropriate, given the time of day.

“Truly, love?” he asked.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you expected me to be freaking out,” she teased. “But seriously, I’m good. All things considered. We  _do_  need to get going though, if we want coffee to take with us to the station.”

Killian smiled. “I just hope there are donuts.”

She snorted.

He stood and pulled on his underwear. Following her into the kitchen as she started the coffeemaker, he ran a hand through his hair and scratched nervously behind his ear. “Emma…”

She just quirked an eyebrow at him in questioning.

“What does last night mean? For us. I know you said it wasn’t a one-time thing, but I’m kind of at a loss.”

“Killian,” she began, her brow furrowed, “is now really the time?”

He shrugged, an exasperated rise of his shoulders. “Well, when is the appropriate time? It feels like unless there’s some sort of crisis, our relationship–or whatever you want to call it–goes into this sort of fragile stasis. I just…I’d like to _live_  between the crises.”

Emma stepped up to him, took his hand, and pressed a light kiss to lips. “I just meant that we have this meeting to go to, my son to find, and a murder to help solve. Not that I don’t want to have this conversation. You…you mean a lot to me.”

He let out a breath, all the indignation in his features fading. “You’re right, we do have other priorities.”

“Are we okay?” she asked shyly.

He pulled her close and kissed her, a loud, smacking thing that made her smile. “Better than okay,” he said as he looked down at her.

&&&

Detective Fa was a delight, even in the grim circumstances under which they were meeting. Her stern demeanor apparently intimidated the hell out of Killian, which tickled Emma to no end.

She was smart and competent, but sensitive to their heightened emotions. Her questions were thorough but quick, and it never felt like an interrogation. In another scenario, in another reality, Emma probably would have had a crush on her.

Mulan, as she asked them to call her, had finished questioning them by nine, having ascertained the degree and nature of their acquaintance with Cleo. She did ask if they wanted to accompany her to the office, even though the crime scene itself had mostly been cleaned up. Their floor was still cordoned off, but the rest of the building was bustling as usual.

“We found her outside, but it looks like she was probably killed inside the building. Just outside her office, in fact,” said Mulan, business-like and brusque as they rode the elevator up.

Emma bit her lip. “Outside? Where?”

She grimaced. “In the dumpster. Whoever did this…”

“Oh god,” Emma breathed, feeling ill.

Killian looked rather nauseated too. “Shit. How long was she…?”

“The medical examiner estimated time of death between four and seven, but probably closer to seven. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” she explained.

The three of them stood in grim silence until the elevator signaled their arrival at Mills & Booth’s floor. They stepped out, and Emma looked around. The lobby looked normal, untouched.

“This way,” Mulan said, gesturing toward the hall.

They finally saw signs of what had happened. Emma balled up her hand and placed it over her mouth as they clung to one side of the hallway. She could see places where Cleo had been dragged, her blood staining the carpet. Near her office, there was more of it.

Emma’s stomach turned at the sight. She felt Killian place a hand at the small of her back, and she met his gaze. He was concerned, even as he himself looked a bit green.

“Why? Why are you showing us this?” Emma blurted.

Mulan turned back and looked at them sympathetically, compassion shining in her eyes. “Because I think you can help. I’m sorry you have to see this, but please. For Cleo, since she can’t tell us herself. Can either of you tell me if anything looks out of place or different than you remember it being?”

They followed her into the office, stepping past the blood drying outside it.

Stomach still roiling, Emma scanned the office critically. It was neat, almost pristine. Too pristine, if she was being honest. Cleo had been tidy enough, but she’d lived with a certain amount of paper clutter. “Her papers. Where are they?”

“We haven’t found much, other than her files in the cabinets here.”

Killian cleared his throat. “Did Robin tell you that Cleo was looking into a–another matter with us?”

Emma smacked his stomach, but Mulan just smiled sadly. “Yeah. Your immigration snafu, right? Something about Mr. Booth being behind it?”

Sighing, Emma nodded. “Cleo was looking into both with us. I know she kept her, er, research here, where Jamie, her son, wouldn’t stumble across it,” she said, before her eyes widened in horror. “Oh god, Jamie. And Alex. How are they doing?”

“Not great, but as well as can be expected in such a shitty situation,” Mulan said.

She felt an icy chill sinking into her bones at what Cleo’s family was going through, and Emma tried to tamp down on the dread that something similar might have happened to Henry. As she  walked around Cleo’s desk and pulled out her chair, she absently asked, “What about security footage we should have something.”

“There isn’t anything. Someone clearly got into the system and was able to turn off some of the cameras and re-direct others,” Mulan explained.

Emma sighed, continuing to look over the desk, running her hands over the drawer handles. It didn’t look any different. None of it did. How could Cleo  _not_  be here anymore, how–

Then she saw it. That tiniest little slip of paper peeking out of the locked drawer. She yelped.  “Guys! Killian, Mulan, come here.”

They rushed over, and she pointed at the paper. It could be nothing. Or…

“I don’t know how we missed this, but I’m going to try to find a key for it, hold on.”

Emma looked sheepish. “Or I could get it. It’s been a while, but I can probably open it with a couple of hairpins.”

Both of them turned and looked at her incredulously, and she shrugged. “Killian, you know about my past. Just because I’m respectable now doesn’t mean I can’t still pick a lock.”

“I want to hear about this past sometime,” Mulan said, her mouth quirked in a lopsided smile.

“Grab a beer with us after this is all over,” she said, and Mulan looked surprised and pleased as she nodded.

Between her and Mulan, they had enough pins, and the room was quiet as Emma levered the pins and jogged the tumblers. Finally, she heard the little click she had been waiting for. Pulling the drawer open, she looked inside. It looked, well, like a standard drawer. Except the corner where the paper was stuck, only part of it visible.

Killian stared down. “It’s a false bottom.”

Mulan inspected it, and then lifted out the metal liner. There, at the bottom of the compartment, was a thumb drive. Emma was willing to bet her life savings that it had all of Cleo’s research on it.

Then, her attention was drawn to the note. In all caps, it read “CORA MILLS AND AUGUST BOOTH=WORKING TOGETHER.”

They all looked at each other wide-eyed and in shock.

&&&

They were sitting in the lobby a couple hours later, going over all the evidence Cleo had put on the thumb drive. They went through all they knew, trying to make connections between August and Cora. As soon as they remembered the comment Regina made at the meeting Cora barged into, it all came together.

That, combined with Killian the conversation with August when he terminated their accord–August had mentioned a partner. It seemed almost obvious now.

All they had left was to check in with Regina about the contract for the shares of Mills & Booth she’d found, and to ask about possible motives. Because if Cora was capable of being involved in this, in Cleo’s murder…

As if on cue, Emma’s phone began to ring. Looking down at it, she saw Regina’s name flash across the screen. In her excitement and eagerness, she fumbled and nearly dropped it. She answered enthusiastically, putting it on speaker for all of them to hear, “Regina? What’s going on? We have major news here.”

“We do too!” She sounded just as energized. “We’ve been walking through the woods for hours, but we found the trail. And Emma, I–I recognize the property it’s on. It belongs to my family. I haven’t been to it in years, but my mother loves it. We’re almost to the house, and we have backup on the way. We’re hoping that Henry’s there.”

Emma gasped. “That totally makes sense, in an awful sort of way. We think, well, we found out that your mom and August were working together. Cleo seemed to have made the connection. We’re trying to put it all together, but it looks like August and Cora were responsible for Cleo’s death, probably to cover up what they did with Henry.”

“Just why–oh god, I can think of a thousand reasons why my mother would do something like this. I’m so sorry. Oh, shit. I have to let you go, we’re here.” Regina cursed again. “I’ll call you as soon as I have more. Try to get here as soon as you can.”

&&&

They were in the air, not far out from the municipal airport, when they got the call. Regina’s voice was ecstatic and choked up. “We found him, Emma. Henry’s safe.”

Emma teared up when, a moment later, she heard a voice she’d been waiting to hear for days.

“Mom? I’m okay.”

“I’m almost there, Henry. I’m almost there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Screams? Flails?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry is found, and that leaves Emma and Killian to come up with some definitions, resolutions, and conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot it was Monday until now, so it's a bit later than I usually post, oops! But this is the last regular chapter. (Next week's is an epilogue.) I just want to say how grateful I am for each and every one of you who has read, liked, and commented on this fic. Thank you.

_Killian_

Killian watched as Emma all but ran out of the car before it stopped. There was Henry, wrapped in a blanket, and Emma flew toward him and pulled him into her arms. Henry seemed to be fine. He had a couple of scrapes and bruises, but otherwise seemed okay. And as he watched their reunion, Killian would have been lying if he tried to pretend his eyes were dry watching the woman he loved embrace her son.

He  _loved_ Emma Swan. Realistically, he had for a while. This wasn’t even a new realization, but it was one he was now ready to accept. There was even a chance she might feel the same.

It had been some time since he had heard Milah’s voice in his subconscious, but he thought she would approve. They’d probably have liked each other, Emma and Milah, had they been given the opportunity to meet. Killian knew Milah would have wanted him to move on, and Emma…well, Emma was everything.

Shaking his head, he came back to the present. Emma and Henry were snuggled up, sitting on the trunk of the police cruiser. Regina stood nearby, running her fingers through his hair. Killian looked over at Robin, who was standing next to Detective Jameson, and smiled. Both returned his smile, enjoying the victory of this happy ending.

Robin’s phone rang and he slumped with relief. “Thank you, Mulan. I’ll let them know,” he said after a moment. Turning back toward the group, Robin smiled again.

They all stared back at him.

“We have news. It seems that August has turned himself in, according to Mulan–er, Detective Fa.”

“Oh my god, really?” Emma asked. Killian grabbed her hand, waiting for Robin to elaborate.

“Yes. Well, not turned himself in exactly, but he made himself easy to find, and he’s  _very_  willing to cooperate with police. He also indicated that Cora Mills is indeed involved.”  

“Hold on,” said Sheriff Jameson. He went over to the squad car and had a quick conversation with one of his deputies on the walkie talkie. He came back looking satisfied. “We have someone on their way to pick up Cora right now. Unless she’s done a bunk, she should be easy enough to find.”

Regina let out a sigh and put an arm around Henry. “Well, let’s hope she’s not making herself scarce. I hate to admit it, but she has enough contacts that she could be difficult to find if that’s what she wants.”

The crackle of the walkie talkie sounded, and David stepped away again. He came back, a stunned look on his face. “Seems like she’s actually turned herself in. Says she’s willing to cooperate completely, on the condition that she talk to Regina first. We have enough to bring her in either way. So, honestly? It’s up to you, Regina.”

She looked indecisive, exchanging a look with Robin before glancing down at Henry. Then she seemed to steel herself and nodded. “Okay. Yes, I’ll go with you. Whatever it takes to get her for what she’s done.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Killian was surprised to hear himself asking the question, and he clearly wasn’t the only one, judging by the looks on the faces of some of the others.

After a beat, Regina nodded gratefully. “Yes, I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

Emma squeezed his hand, and they all prepared themselves to head to the station.

&&&

The station was smaller than the BPD office Robin worked from, though Killian really should have expected that. This part of Maine wasn’t exactly over-populated.

They walked in and spoke briefly, before agreeing that Robin, Regina, and Sheriff Jameson would all speak to Cora while Emma, Henry, and he waited in one of the back offices. They didn’t want to seem confrontational, but they didn’t want to leave Regina alone with her mother, especially if she was party to kidnapping and murder.

While they waited, Killian made a call to one of the few local eateries that delivered and arranged for a pizza for all of them. It took about forty-five minutes to arrive, and the rest of their party emerged around fifteen minutes after that. Killian, Emma, and Henry were all crowded around the table eating their pizza, though Killian had left his prosthetic hand resting at the small of Emma’s back. Emma was still hugging Henry, and frankly, he was amazed that any of them were able to eat with all the affection going around. He would have scoffed had he not been so relieved.

When Regina emerged, sandwiched between Robin and David, she looked exhausted. One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile as she watched Henry eat, and Killian bit back a comment when he saw Robin place a lingering hand on Regina’s arm as he whispered quietly with her. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but  _that_  was an interesting development.

After a couple more minutes, Regina made her way over to them. “Well, she confessed to…pretty much everything.”

He and Emma leaned forward for the tale while the others took their seats around the table. Killian gestured to the pizza and told them all to grab a slice or two.

David sighed. “She really did. She copped to everything but the murder charges, but even there–I could see her being charged with accessory or conspiracy.”

“And apparently August was terrified enough at what she’d say that he confessed literally everything else, most of which lines up with Cora’s tale,” Robin said.

“So…what happened? And why?” Emma asked.

“Apparently it was…me,” Regina said, hesitating. “That is, my mother claims she did all of this for me. To make my life better, to get closer to me.”

Henry looked up at her. “She kidnapped me for you?”

Regina put down her slice of pizza, knelt on the floor in front of Henry and took both of his hands in hers. “I pointed out how absolutely  _insane_  that was. As in, that would be the last thing I’d ever want to happen. But according to her, she missed being a part of my life, and she used that to justify…well, everything. She worked with August starting a while ago, so she’s had an eye into Mills & Booth almost since the beginning.” Regina frowned. “And when I still wasn’t receptive to her overtures, she started spying on me and trying to find other avenues into my life.”

“Yikes,” Emma said, letting out a breath. Killian silently agreed.

“She decided if there wasn’t a way to get to me through business, she’d have to look closer to home. Somehow, she found out you gave birth to Henry,” she continued, meeting Emma’s eyes, “and she was thus responsible for making sure August brought you on, and then kept tabs on you. At least, she arranged it, even though it was apparently August’s idea to use Killian to that end.”

He cringed at the mention of his perfidy, but Emma reached for him. Henry raised an eyebrow, and he knew they would have to explain the tale in more depth late, but that would be a discussion to have with Emma–and probably Regina–later. Once things settled down a little.

Regina took a deep breath. “When it was clear that Emma wasn’t going to try to come between me and Henry, she decided to intervene. She thought that if she drove a wedge between you and me,” she said to Henry, “that I would turn to her, that I’d confide in her, ask her for advice. She even arranged for Henry to find a PI that was in her pocket and reporting to her. Since that wasn’t happening, she used what she’d learned from August’s spying on Emma to–well, she came up with the kidnapping plot based on what you were writing, Emma. She was trying to frame you, or at least play us against each other.”

“And it almost worked,” Emma whispered and then let out a deep breath.

Swallowing, Regina agreed with a nod. “Almost. But they didn’t count on Cleo. August realized Cleo was onto them, and he knew she could get them in a world of trouble. But Mother said she didn’t realize Cleo was dead until the news hit the papers.”

Killian cleared his throat. “So…she arranged the kidnapping? How? And to what end, if that’s an appropriate question in, er, present company?” he asked, glancing at Henry quickly, his brow furrowed with concern.

Regina snorted. “Clearly, she couldn’t do it herself. While she hasn’t been part of my life or Henry’s, he  _does_  know what she looks like. And Henry knew August. So apparently she blackmailed Mr. Jefferson, who owed her, and he took Henry and kept him at the house.” Taking a breath, she continued. “I’m not sure what her endgame was in regards to Henry, but that’s something the judges will be able to use against her. And obviously Sheriff Jameson has Mr. Jefferson in possession, but we’re not sure how much he was involved at this point. In some ways, he was a victim as well. Apparently, my mother was influencing his custody agreement with his ex over his daughter. And I…can’t fault him for wanting to hold onto his daughter,” she said shakily.

Killian whistled, and Emma whispered, “Wow.”

“Tell them about August,” David said quietly, directing his command toward Robin, who nodded.

“As I mentioned earlier, August Booth seems to have confessed to everything. He’s pretty willing to talk in exchange for leniency, and he said he’ll tell us everything he has on Cora. He seems to think she’s a bigger fish than he is. And we  _are_  finding that she seems to be involved in a lot of unsavory activities,” Robin said.

They all sat quietly for a few minutes, absorbing all of the information. It was still sinking in, but Killian could see how knackered everyone at the table looked.

Finally, Henry broke the silence. “Is it over then? Are we safe?”

He could see the heartbreak in both Emma’s and Regina’s eyes as they exchanged a look, but Regina smiled at Henry as her eyes filled with tears, and she hoarsely told him, “I think so, baby.”

&&&

After the emotional end to their search for Henry, all of them headed back to Boston to recover and rest. Regina and Henry had no interest in being at their home in Storybrooke, so they stayed at the apartment Regina kept in Boston. The first night back, Emma stayed with them, so Killian headed home for the first time in what felt like years, even if it had only been a few days.

The next day, Emma called Killian and asked him to come over, and to bring an overnight bag. He agreed without hesitation.

“I just…I’m glad Henry and Regina are here, but I don’t particularly want to crash on their couch again tonight. We–Regina and I–want things to get back to normal for Henry as soon as they can,” Emma said.

Killian laughed into the phone, not particularly amused, but always glad to hear from her. “And where do I come in?”

He could almost hear her smile through the phone. “Well, for starters, I thought of a really great ending for my book, and I  _guess_  I should talk to my editor about it, if he’s game.”

“Oh, he is,” he purred into the phone. “For that and essentially anything else you’d ask, Swan.”

She giggled. “Well, that’s good, because I…I don’t really want to sleep alone tonight. So I’m  _hoping_  he’ll come join me.”

Killian was on his feet and throwing things into a bag before he even responded. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He arrived a couple hours later. It was still early afternoon, but he stopped for takeout anyway. Even if they weren’t hungry now, they could microwave their food later. As soon as he knocked at her door, Emma opened it and threw herself into Killian’s arms.

He breathed in her clean scent as he hugged her, dropping his bag just inside the door. She stepped away from him after a moment and pulled him inside, glancing up at him sheepishly. “Sorry for the ambush. Is it corny to say that I missed you?”

Killian smiled, and knew he was a lucky, lucky man. “Aye, but it’s probably cornier for me to say that I’ve missed you from the moment we parted ways. Please ambush me anytime, love.”

“I really do have work things I want to talk about, but I figured we could take a few days and just relax,” Emma said, half apologetically.

“What does the boss lady say about that?” he asked jokingly. “I hear she’s a bit of a hard-ass.”

Emma snorted. “She is, but I think she needs a vacation as much as the rest of us. So we–everyone at Mills & Booth–are officially free until after Cleo’s funeral.”

He sobered at that. “When is it?”

“On Saturday. You’ll come, right?”

“Of course,” he said. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Emma hesitated and wrapped a hand around his arm. “Just…stay with me? I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to be alone.”

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to her temple, “about being here for you, however you need.”

“Good. Because I do, you know. Need you that is,” she said, stumbling over her words, a blush rising over her cheeks.

Killian’s heart was beating so fast he was afraid it would make its way out of his chest. “Is that right?”

She paused and looked up at him before dropping her hand to his and pulling him toward the couch. “Yeah. I said we would talk when this was over, when we found Henry, and I–well, I’m all in. If you are.”

He brushed a soft kiss over her lips as he pulled her into his lap. “You should know, Emma, that I’m in this for the long haul.”

After that, it was a long time until either of them spoke again, instead letting their bodies communicate their passion and their desires.

&&&

On Friday morning, they were sitting in bed not wearing a stitch, but finally rested. Emma lay in his arms, and Killian smiled at her. The sheen of sweat covering them was beginning to cool them, and he pulled the coverlet over them.

One of Emma’s hands was curled at the base of his skull, her fingers running through his hair, sweaty as it was. “Oh! I just remembered. I know we’ve been pretty  _distracted_  the last couple of days, but I meant to tell you about the ending I worked out for the book.”

“Do tell, love,” he said, skimming his knuckles over her bare arm.

She shivered, and pressed herself more closely to him. “I think…that Jacob and his adoptive mother live happily ever after, even if his other mom–the social worker–gets to spend a lot of time with him and be part of his life too.”

He hummed, considering. “That sounds refreshing, and…definitely like a good thing, if it can be managed. It seems like it could be, too.” He paused and drew a circle on the skin at her elbow. “And what about the social worker’s love interest?”

“Well, I think she’s definitely fallen for him,” Emma said, not meeting his eyes, but smiling and running a hand through his chest hair. “She might not be ready to admit how much she cares yet, but she probably loves him.”

“And I can tell he loves her. From the way you’ve written him, obviously,” he said, grinning at her.

She looked up and kissed him, a mere peck on the lips, but infused with affection. “So you think they can all work something out? The social worker, the mom, and Jacob? And the sexy love interest?”

“Sexy, hmm?” Killian murmured. “I think so. Both narratively and in the more, uh, meta sense we seem to be alluding to.”

“Good,” said Emma, pulling him on top of her.

&&&

Monday dawned clear and cold. Killian finally felt rested, and he was glad to be heading back to work.

He’d spent most of the weekend at Emma’s, spending time with her as well as with Henry and Regina when they were around. There had even been an outing the previous day to Granny’s, where his and Emma’s friends all finally had a chance to mingle. (And he’d never admit it out loud, but seeing Regina’s reaction to a greasy Boston diner? Priceless.)

The funeral had been Saturday. Even though he had just started to get to know Cleo and had never met her family, it was a wrenching, emotional service. Her husband and son appeared so undone and adrift, and he wondered what would become of them. Emma knew them better than most of the people there from Mills & Booth, and mentioned she wanted to make sure they stayed abreast of their goings-on.

That night and the previous, they had stayed at his apartment, whereas the rest of the time, last night included, they slept at Emma’s. It was strange–in the best way–to be waking up beside her and getting ready to head into work with her. She didn’t have to be in as early as he did, but Regina wanted to meet with her later, after she met with Killian.

So they took a cab, hoping it would be warm enough to walk back later. He looked away from the window, glancing at Emma out of the corner of his eye. He smiled when he saw their intertwined fingers. As awful as some parts of the preceding week had been, Killian felt they had laid a good foundation for their fledgling relationship.

When they walked into the lobby, Killian was relieved to see it seemed to have been restored to some semblance of normalcy. Ariel looked more like herself, if still a little subdued. He and Emma parted ways in the hall. She headed back down to the lobby so she could grab some coffee, and he headed to Regina’s office.

Her door was cracked, but he knocked to give her a head’s up. Making his way in, he took the seat she gestured to across the desk from her. “Regina, how’s it going this morning?”

She smiled back at him. “It’s going well. Henry is enjoying the break from school, and the nightmares haven’t been as bad.”

“That’s excellent. Oh, I’m supposed to tell you–Emma is bringing coffee, so if you want something other than your usual almond milk latte, let me know so I can text her,” he said.

“Thank you.” she said with a nod. “How are you?” She looked at him with curiosity and something he couldn’t quite decipher in her eyes.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m well. And well-rested, fortunately.”

There was a slightly awkward lull in the conversation, but after a few moments Regina cleared her throat. “That’s good. I–well, this isn’t why I asked you to the meeting, but have you heard anything from Robin lately? He asked me on a date, but hasn’t told me what we’re doing.”

“Ah, I see how it is.” He smirked and drummed his fingers against his chin. “Trying to pump me for information on my mate’s plans and see if he’s mentioned you, are you? Did you say yes?”

“I did,” she said. “With him having Roland, he just  _gets_  things from my life that most people don’t seem to. And…he smells like forest, even when we’re nowhere near the woods.”

Killian shifted in his seat. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with these emotional confidences from Regina, but he couldn’t deny he was happy that she and his friend seemed to have connected. He smiled a trifle awkwardly, but nodded in understanding. Nonetheless, he wished Emma were here so that she could reply in a more suitable fashion.

Regina seemed to sense his discomfort, and nodded brusquely. “Anyway, the reason I asked you here was two-fold. For starters, with my mother and August in custody, your immigration problems seem to have magically disappeared.” She shook her head. “Shocking, I know.”

“Imagine that,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping in every syllable.

“Yes, all of a sudden, Immigration seems to have magically ‘found’ your paperwork.”

Killian snorted. “Bureaucracy, truly there for us in our time of need.”

Regina laughed and continued, “With that out of the way, we don’t have to pay you as a contractor anymore.”

“My taxes are going to be a nightmare,” he bemoaned.

“Probably. Especially if you take my offer, which I’m hoping you will.” She tapped on her desk, a level stare directed at him.

He met her eyes. “What’s the offer?”

“I want you to take Cleo’s job as Senior Editor.”

He sat there, stunned. He was qualified, but he hadn’t been there long, and…

Regina seemed to pick up on his surprise and uncertainty. “I know you haven’t been here long, but I’m confident you can do it. And I trust you the way I trusted Cleo. I know you’ll have Mills & Booth’s best interests at heart.”

“Wow. Um, so it’s still Mills & Booth?” he asked, trying to take a few moments to consider his answer.

She sighed. “Yes, I think so. Unless I can find a way to retain brand recognition, the name stays. But…I’m thinking about making an addition to it.”

“Oh?”

“I love my company, I really do. But I don’t want the entire thing resting on my shoulders, and August did alleviate some of that. He ended up forfeiting his half when he confessed, though. So I’m also going to offer you enough shares of Mills & Booth that you’d be part owner, if you want it.”

Now Killian was speechless.

“It would be about 30%, and we could re-evaluate after a year or so. But I know from your background check that you have the assets, and I think you could do it. You’re certainly more qualified than August, and I like you a whole hell of a lot better,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said, “I might need some time to consider it, but I can have an answer for you soon.”

Regina smiled. “Good. Talk to Emma about it. Especially because with how those changes will affect your working relationship with her,” she paused. “And speaking of the devil…”

Emma came through the cracked door bearing a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries. “The devil brings treats, so respect her.”

Killian laughed and stood to help, while Regina rolled her eyes and cleared a spot on her desk for the pastries. As soon as they all got settled in, Emma in the chair beside him, they began again.

“I made him the offer I told you about,” Regina told Emma.

She smiled. “Good. What did he say?”

“Excuse me, I’m still in the room,” he said, putting on an aggrieved air, but completely ruining it by winking at Emma. “I said I’d think about it. I’m leaning toward yes, depending on those changes in regards to my work with Emma.”

Regina nodded. “Indeed. I’m happy with what I know of your book, Emma, and how you two have worked together. But…I want Killian to step into a role with more responsibility, which might mean he wouldn’t have the time for as much hands-on editing.”

“That makes sense,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m not thrilled about it, but it’s not like he wouldn’t have any input.”

“Exactly, and you made it clear you can work together, even when your, er, personal involvement wasn’t…ideal. So I can’t help but think this would only be a good thing for your relationship.”

“What do you mean?” Killian interrupted. “And I wouldn’t be able to edit Emma’s work?”

“I think Emma should have an agent, for starters.” She turned her attention back to Emma. “You didn’t have one to begin with, and August kind of acted as one for you. Then Graham and now Killian have both been champions of your work. But you should have someone dedicated to that, and whom you are paying. Someone whose loyalties are never in question.”

“Well, Regina, it does help that Killian isn’t spying on me anymore,” Emma teased.

He gave her a quelling–but affectionate–look. “But I  _am_  100% team Emma.”

“Yes, in a personal sense,” Regina said, “but you’re also focused on making her work better, while trying to do your other work, too. Besides, if you accept my offer, your loyalties to Mills & Booth might occasionally conflict with acting on Emma’s behalf. Not that I foresee any confrontations,” she raised her hands to placate him, seeing him on the verge of interrupting with objections, “but it could come up.”

Emma sat there thoughtfully before speaking. “I think you’re right, Regina. I…I really should have an agent. And I’d be happy to continue to work with Killian, but it…it might be nice not to have work and personal stuff so mixed up.”

“And, look, Emma. I believe in you. I–I know you’ve been worried about things since you found out that August brought you on at my mother’s behest, because you’re Henry’s mother too. But you’re good at what you do. The numbers speak for themselves–you’re a fantastic writer. I’d be an idiot not to want to work with you, even if we didn’t have other ties,” Regina said bluntly, her characteristic honesty kind instead of cutting this time.

Killian looked over at Emma and saw the relief and joy, shining from her, and he made up his mind. “I’ll do it. I still want to work with Emma as much as possible, but I’ll take the position.”

“Excellent,” Regina said with a smile, and he and Emma echoed it.

&&&

Later that day, after more meetings for both of them, Killian and Emma finally headed back to her apartment. As they walked down the street, she caught him up on the conversation she had had later with Regina about Henry, and how she could be more involved with his life.

“He’ll spend one weekend a month with me during the school year. Summers he’ll be able to stay for a week or two at a time, but we’re going to play that by ear,” Emma said with a bounce to her step.

Killian smiled down at her, swinging her arm with his. She looked so  _happy_ , between the news about Henry and the cold air nipping at her cheeks. “What about the holidays, love? Will you be able to see him then?”

Emma looked thoughtful. “You know, it’s weird. For most of my life, I wanted to find my parents. Or have them find me. But for the first time ever, not having them is a good thing, because there’s nothing stopping us from all getting together on the holidays. Regina doesn’t really have anyone either, so…we talked about just doing holidays together.”

“A found family,” Killian mused.

She smiled up at him. “Yeah. You would be welcome too, if you want.”

“Is there room for me? In this found family?” He knew she was inviting him to more than a holiday dinner, but he wanted the clarification, wanted to hear the words.

“Always,” she said, squeezing his hand.

He beamed down at her, and she returned his smile radiantly. Tucking her arm through his, Killian looked forward–to their path, a home, a future, and Emma.

He couldn’t wait.


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a conclusion is the beginning of something new...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you! To Kris, for whipping this story into shape. To Kayla and Sophie for creating awesome artwork and some hand-holding, and to everyone involved in the Captain Swan Big Bang for all the encouragement. And finally, to all of you here who have read, reviewed, and left kudo--my heart is full.

_Eight months later_

It was late summer–that time of year where you didn’t know whether to expect scorching days or if you should start thinking about pulling out jackets and scarves.

Currently, Emma and Killian were sweltering. They had just finished grabbing the last of their boxes from Robin’s truck and carrying them up to their new apartment, and they were _tired_. Most of their things had already been moved over the last few days, but today was the last of it–the most important things.

Moving in together had been a no-brainer. They might have only been officially together for less than a year, but what a year it had been. They were confident in their feelings for each other, in their commitment to each other.

And Killian’s lease was up.

After briefly entertaining the idea of moving into Emma’s apartment, they had realized they needed a space that was theirs. Emma’s was great, and it would forever be the place she had lived when they had met and fallen in love, but they both wanted space to work, and to put their own distinctive spin on a place as a couple. Plus, Emma wanted Henry to have a room of his own when he stayed with them.

Truthfully, Killian was just waiting until they were together a while longer before looking for a house for them to buy. Emma approved, and would never tell Killian, but she had a couple real estate sites bookmarked.

They had used movers to haul the majority of their stuff. (“We’re not callow youths, Swan. None of our friends would accept beer and pizza as payments. Please, let’s just pay someone to move our things.”) A few trips with the Bug and one final one in Robin’s truck had sufficed for the rest of their things, but they had agreed to take a short break before meeting everyone for dinner.

“We should probably also do the showering thing,” Emma pointed out.

Killian agreed with a nod, but raised a eyebrow. “Are you propositioning me, love?”

“Noooo,” she said with a laugh, “I’m too tired right now. But can I defer the propositioning until later or tomorrow? Because then yes, absolutely.”

“We  _do_  need to break in the shower,” he replied seriously, his eyes twinkling.

Emma giggled. “Well, mark that in your calendar for tomorrow.”

He jokingly retrieved his phone, but then saw the number of texts waiting for him. “Christ, our friends are impatient. They know this isn’t a house-warming party, right? And that we’re exhausted?”

She leaned over to where he sat atop a sturdy box and kissed him. “Yes, but they’ve been great and very supportive. And they’re paying. So we’re going.”

With a deep sigh of mock annoyance, he stood and said, “Fine, then. We’ll just have to hope that they buy the good booze though.”

&&&

They met everyone a couple hours later at a restaurant Regina had been wanting to try since she and Henry had moved to Boston a few months before.

“I’m tired of commuting between Storybrooke and here, even if I telecommuted more before,” Regina had explained. “With you here and with what we worked out for Henry, it just makes more sense.”

Emma nodded, but smirked. “That makes sense. And I’m also sure it has absolutely nothing to do with Robin and Roland being here either.”

Regina blushed hotly but didn’t deny it. “I…I want to see where it goes. Robin seems wonderful, and Roland and Henry get along so well.”

That had been a little over three months ago, and they were now settled into the house Regina had purchased on Beacon Hill. It wasn’t large, but it was elegant and well-appointed, and both she and Henry seemed very happy there.

After they’d been in Boston a few weeks, Regina had confessed another motive in moving to Boston full-time: being in Maine was a painful reminder of everything that had happened with her mother. Henry still had the occasional nightmare. (Emma and Regina did too, but that revelation had come out even later, over two bottles of wine and a long night of oversharing.)

Cora had been tried and convicted of her crimes. Aside from the kidnapping charges, she’d also been up for conspiracy to commit murder and a slew of finance-related charges. She had hired a phenomenal lawyer, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. She’d been sentenced to forty years, and had begun serving her time in a women’s prison. It wasn’t high-security, but it definitely wasn’t what she was used to. Regina would be an old woman before she would forget the flash of surprise and anger in Cora’s eyes when the jury foreman informed her of her sentence.

August, too, had been convicted of all his crimes. The judge had quickly issued his sentence, as he had confessed everything. He had gotten life in prison and was currently serving it out.

Emma shook her head as she walked into the restaurant. Her reminiscing could wait–their friends were already at a table, and they had a fun evening to look forward to.

Placing his hand at the small of her back, Killian walked in behind her, waving at everyone as soon as the mâitre d’ ushered them inside. It was a full table–Ruby, Belle, Robin, Regina, Henry, Roland, Kathryn and Fred, her husband, Mulan, and Elsa, Emma’s new(ish) agent. His heart warmed at all the friendly faces and cheerful greetings.

The meal was an altogether pleasant celebration of Killian’s and Emma’s new apartment and cohabitation. It was kept from getting raucous by the presence of Henry and Roland, even if a couple of the party (in other words, Killian and Ruby) did insist on using innuendo that fortunately went over the boys’ heads.

Partway through the meal, Emma elbowed Killian. He was about to tease her about her pointy elbows when he saw what she was subtly gesturing to–Mulan and Elsa in close conversation at the end of the table, paying none of the rest of the party a lick of attention.

Now, that was interesting and definitely bore watching. “Don’t get any ideas, Swan,” he whispered to her.

“I don’t  _need_ to get ideas, they’re making the heart eyes all on their own,” she protested.

“Still.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, I won’t, but I can hope and dream.”

Pulling her close, he brushed a kiss across her temple. “Love, are you actually turning into a romantic?” he teased her quietly.

“No!” Her response was louder than she had likely intended, and a few of the others looked over.

“Oy, hold off on the snuggling and the like until you get back to your brand new home,” Robin said, laughing. He then pulled Regina close and kissed her loudly, grinning as she turned bright red.

Emma just shook her head at their antics. “‘Do as I say and not as I do,’ huh, Robin? I see how it is.”

“I need to get in on this action,” Ruby muttered before kissing her wife. Belle leaned in for a minute, but then pulled back, rolling her eyes.

Henry buried his face in his hands, clearly mortified by the adults around him. “Someone save me from this nightmare.”

“You’ll understand someday,” said Elsa, even as she patted his arm sympathetically. “Probably, or so they tell me, but they are pretty embarrassing.”

&&&

A couple nights later, Emma and Killian headed down to the office. It was a party, even if it was a smaller one. Killian was relieved–as part owner of the publishing house, now Mills & Jones–a marketing consultant had pointed out that their branding might suffer more for being associated with a convicted murderer–he had begun attending a lot of parties on behalf of the company. Most of them were fancy affairs designed to bring investors together, and he was happy to have more low-key evening where he wasn’t required to network.

Tonight’s festivities were doubling as a celebration for a successful quarter–Emma’s book,  _Mistaken_ , had been released to great fanfare–and as a going-away party for Alex and Jamie. Eight months on, they were still trying to heal and put back together the pieces of their lives. Alex hailed from the west coast, so they decided to move closer to his family in Seattle for a new start.

The atmosphere was light, if a little subdued. Most of the attendees were Mills & Jones employees or authors and their plus ones, but many of those who had been there a while also knew Alex and Jamie.

Emma was mingling happily when she saw Mulan arrive. For a moment she paused and squealed internally, thinking that perhaps Elsa had invited her here as her date. Then she noted Mulan’s dark pantsuit, more appropriate for work than for an evening out. She frowned, then Mulan made eye contact and motioned for her to come over.

Murmuring her excuses, she extracted herself from her conversation and made her way over. Finding Killian on her way, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Once over there, she was surprised to see that Regina and Robin were standing there as well.

“So…what’s going on?” Regina asked, curiosity and a bit of impatience in her voice.

Mulan took a deep breath. “Apparently Cora wasn’t expecting the sentence she got. So she offered up some new information in exchange for a deal.”

“What’s on offer here?” Killian asked, brow furrowed with concern and distaste.

Mulan shrugged apologetically, then looked right at Emma. “She says she knows who your parents are, Emma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, now is the time to mention I'm writing a sequel, right? There's going to be a sequel. I really loved writing this all in one go, and it helped with the plotting, so it might be some time before it's ready, but I can't wait to show you all. I'll probably start posting snippets during the new year on my tumblr, emmaswanchoosesyou. Thanks again for accompanying me on this journey, and I hope you'll tune in for the next part!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the journey! Comments and reviews feed the muse. <3


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